


The Keeper

by PalyGirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brienne is the Best, Character Death, Fix-It, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Brienne of Tarth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-01-11 19:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 228,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18430568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PalyGirl/pseuds/PalyGirl
Summary: SUMMARY: All Brienne ever wanted was to be a respected knight and serve a just king. The Gods, however, have a different plan for the Lady of Tarth.  She must bring together their warriors, weapons and wisdom to defeat the Night King and Army of the Dead. The sworn sword will become the most powerful instrument in the Game of Throne. (AU after episode 4.10)This is my take on how the cluesalready in the books and TV showcan be interpreted by our heroes to create a believable motivation and logical defeat for the Night King and the Army of the Dead.Chapter 42:They’d been fools to think that the small number they’d just defeated, a few hundred Wights, was the entirety of the enemy they’d fight. The first wave was only the dead buried near the tourney grounds. Now they would face the true threat.





	1. Oath Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Brienne ever wanted was to be a respected knight and serve a just king. Destiny, however, has different plans for the Lady of Tarth. This is her journey from Catelyn Stark’s sworn sword to the most powerful player in the Game of Thrones.
> 
> “Are you sure it was Arya?” Brienne looked around at the noisy, crowded dock. “We’ve come all this way to Braavos because you claim to have seen Arya Stark board that boat.”

### Chapter One: Oath Keeper

The scent of sea, fish and smoke settled over Brienne like a comfortable blanket. The dock at Tarth was far smaller and quieter than here at Ragman’s Harbor, but the scent was the same. Tarth had mostly fishermen and traders while the Braavosi harbor was a thriving community.

“Are you sure it was Arya?” Brienne looked around at the noisy, crowded dock. “We’ve come all this way to Braavos because you _claim_ to have seen Arya Stark board that boat.”

“She looked like the same girl and she wore similar clothes.” Podrick also looked around. “And you needed time to recover from beating the Hound.”

People of all sizes and colors shared the dock. She had always stuck out in the small community at Tarth; too tall, too pale, too strong and too unfeminine to be accepted, even as the daughter of their lord. Here, she barely drew a second glance. Many men and even some women were taller than her, their coloring as varied as the goods and services they offered.

She looked over the powerful, dark-skinned, shirtless men offering curved fighting blades, the blue or green-haired tradesmen calling out their wares in multiple, indecipherable languages, white-haired but dewy-skinned women pressing nearly bared breasts against lecherous-eyed sailors, sun-burned, rag-dressed beggars and priests of every faith mingling in the masses.

“I don’t see anyone who looks like her here.” Brienne strode along the dock, allowing the wave of people to guide her up the pier. 

“How can we find anyone in this crowd?” Podrick half walked, half ran to keep up with her longer strides. “Especially someone as small as that girl.”

Brienne stopped abruptly and Podrick stumbled into her back. She grimaced but said nothing. He was right. Arya was tiny while the dock was huge. Braavos was the biggest shipping and trading center in Essos.

“Not everyone is as tall as you, my Lady, Ser,” he continued. “Arya could duck down and we’d never see her.”

Brienne turned in a full circle, the mass of people parting around her like water flowing around a rock. “We won’t be able to find her here.”

“So where do we find her, my Lady, Ser?”

“She’s not here…yet.”

It took her a moment to find the old man who’d spoken. The man was barefoot and poorly clad in seawater robes, looking at her expectantly.

“Were you speaking to me?” she asked.

The old man nodded. “You are searching for a grey-eyed wolf, aren’t you?”

She glanced over at Podrick who looked as confused as she felt, his eyebrows pulled together and mouth open in a rounded circle.

“How did you know?” she demanded, moving closer to the old man.

He didn’t appear intimidated by her build or her glare, steadily remaining in place as he studied her unfeminine shirt and breeches, worn boots and heavy sword belt with calm acceptance.

“I know many things.” The man was small, his skin wrinkled and darkened by the sun, his body bent and shrunken with age. “The Gods have been waiting for you.”

“For me?” Brienne’s eyebrows rose. “What is a priest of the Ironborn doing in Braavos and telling me of other Gods? You’re a long way from home, old man.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “I’ve travelled all this way and summoned you here for a message of grave importance.”

Again, she exchanged confused glances with Podrick. Her young squire moved closer to her side as though expecting to protect her from the feeble priest.

“ _You_ summoned me? How?” She put her hand on _Oathkeeper’s_ pommel, an unconscious gesture of warning and self-defense.

“By showing you what you wanted to see.” The priest forced his body to straighten, to meet her gaze. “A great and terrible night will soon overtake the lands, including the Iron Islands. We must all, men and Gods, work together to protect the people.”

Brienne frowned. “Speak clearly, old man. Your words make no sense.”

“I’ve seen the past, the present and the future. There are five visions, five keys.” He held up a gnarled forefinger. “I’ve seen a lion roar and a wolf escape its jaws.”

Brienne stiffened, not daring to look at Podrick.

The priest held up his second finger. “A bird snatched the wolf. The bird dashed the wolf against icy, unyielding ground.”

He paused as if expecting her to comment. She remained silent, her lips pressed into a bloodless line.

The priest’s third finger could barely unbend. “The wolf struggled against blood-red figures.”

She nodded, indicating for him to continue.

The priest held up four aged fingers. “A large blue dragon flew towards the wolf.”

Brienne sucks in a deep breath. “A dragon?”

“Aye.” The priest waved his hand to draw her attention to the five outstretched digits. “The dragon became smaller; it’s wings contracted and it became a woman with pale gold hair and blue armor.”

She finally looked at Podrick again. He blinked back at her, his expression blank, as if the information is too much for him to process.

Brienne turned back to the priest. “A lion and a wolf? You’ve seen this?”

“Aye, the events are already in motion, aren’t they?” He folded his hands together. “Destiny has already put you on your path. You must go to Tyrosh to find what you seek.”

“Tyrosh? But I’ve just gotten to Braavos.” She waved to the large ship in the harbor, passengers still passing them up the dock. “How can Arya already be in Tyrosh?”

The old man sighed. “I’m not a learned man. The saltwater trance only provides visions. Many priests have seen the same vision so it must be truth.”

Brienne shook her head. “Are you sure your message is for me?”

“Yes. Only you can do what must be done.” A minute change came over the priest; a slight sharpening of his eyes, an almost imperceptible strengthening of formerly brittle bones. “Look carefully. You must see what is not seen.”

The moment was gone, the old man looked weak and feeble again. “The Gods will guide you but you must complete this journey. Be strong, Brienne of Tarth, for you are on the path of a mighty destiny.”

She stepped back, the sincerity in his eyes creating an energy field around him. “How do you know my name?”

“You are chosen. Your destiny was foretold in the stars before you were born.” He moved back, allowing the crowd to separate them. “Hurry, Brienne of Tarth. The reign of the Night Queen will soon begin.”


	2. Dock Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Brienne ever wanted was to be a respected knight and serve a just king. Destiny, however, has different plans for the Lady of Tarth. This is her journey from Catelyn Stark’s sworn sword to the most powerful player in the Game of Thrones.
> 
> “But why? There’s nothing special about me.” Brienne looked around, as if searching for inspiration. “Why would anyone think I had a special destiny?”

### Chapter 2: Dock Keeper

Brienne stood as still as stone on the busy dock. Podrick stared at where the old priest had been a moment ago, before being swallowed by the crowd.

“What are you thinking, my Lady, Ser? Are we going to Tyrosh?” 

“What he said made no sense.” She spoke slowly, still processing the old man’s words. “But he knew my name.”

“Perhaps he knew to look for you,” Podrick suggested.

“But why? There’s nothing special about me.” Brienne looked around, as if searching for inspiration. “Why would anyone think I had a special destiny?”

Podrick also looked around. “Can we discuss this elsewhere, my Lady, Ser? Hopefully a place where the floor doesn’t shift under our feet and where our meal isn’t pickled fish?”

She blinked, finally seeing how tired and worn out her young squire truly looked. His skin had the grey pallor of a man unaccustomed to the constant motions of waves. The dark circles around his eyes were testament to the nights without sleep guarding his injured companion.

“Yes, we can.” Her eyes softened. “I thank you for your care during our trip.”

“Thank you, my Lady, Ser.” His smile made his face glow even in the dusk of the setting sun. “I’m glad to be of service to you.”

They picked up their bags and walked into the first semi-clean inn they found. Fortunately, the walk was short as the busy dock had many options. A short time later, they were seated in the dining hall, tearing into hunks of bread and mutton.

“I’ve been thinking.” Podrick licked meat juice off his fingers. “I believe what the old priest said. Not only did he know your name, but he also knew about your search for Sansa Stark. Only Ser Jamie knew about your oath.”

“Keep your voice down,” she admonished. “We don’t know who could be listening.” 

“I’m sorry, my Lady, Ser.” He lowered his voice and crouched down, at if it would help muffle his voice. “Why would anyone want to send you to Tyrosh unless it was for a good reason?”

“Maybe he wants to distract us, send us in the wrong direction?” 

“If so, then wouldn’t he send us back to Westeros?”

“That’s true. Tyrosh is the closest port to Westeros. In fact, it’s across from Tarth. The journey across is less than two days, unlike the eight days it took for us to cross from Gulltown.”

“Well, maybe that’s how he knows you. There must be a great deal of trade between Tyrosh and Tarth.”

She chewed thoughtfully. “It’s possible, even though I haven’t been home since I left to serve Renly Baratheon.”

“So do we continue to search for Arya?”

She looked at him carefully. His skin was no longer grey and his eyes were brighter though still circled dark with exhaustion. 

“No, I’ll ask around at the docks. You will have a hot bath and a good night’s sleep in a bed that doesn’t rock. We’ll leave at first light to find passage to Tyrosh.”

 

The next morning, Brienne set down her bags and glared at the man holding out a copper piece to her. From the corner of her eye, she could see Podrick grin widely then duck his head to hide his smile.

“No.” Her voice was flat and hard. 

The man dug into his worn, dirty purse and pulled out another copper. He held them both up, the dull metal made shiny in the morning sunlight. She shook her head vigorously. 

“No.” She waved her hand up and down to indicate her body then curled her hand so only her first finger extended. She rocked it from side to side. “Not for sale.”

The man’s face fell. He looked lustfully at her long legs encased in her worn breeches. He said something in a foreign tongue. Brienne repeated her ‘no’ gesture. Finally, the man sighed, put his coins back in his purse and moved on, glancing longingly back at her. She glared at his retreating back until he was safely away from them.

“Stop smiling,” she ordered her squire, not needing to look at him.

“I’m sorry, _my Lady_.” Podrick dutifully smoothed out his smile but couldn’t hide the twinkle in his eyes. “He’s the third man who has attempted to buy you in the past hour. I believe the whores across the way are angry with you.”

She looked over to where he’d tilted his head. The trio of barely-dressed women glared at her. Brienne sighed and turned back to her squire.

“They’re not trying to buy me because I’m a woman. Look at me.” She waved her hand up and down her body again. “Do I look like the kind of woman men would buy to bed?”

Podrick shrugged, far too smart to comment.

“They want me because I’m strong and would make a good worker.” She shaded her eyes to look down the row of ships. “None of these ships will take passengers.”

“Maybe we can offer to work,” he suggested. “There must be ships taking goods down the Narrow Sea. They may not take passengers, but they might take good workers. And…” his grin returned. “…you’re clearly very popular on the docks.”

She scowled at him but only briefly. They hadn’t had any luck buying a place on a ship. Perhaps her too tall, too strong, too masculine body would gain them work on a south-bound ship.

“Look for a ship that’s ready to cast off.”

“Cast off?” Podrick repeated. “What does that mean?”

She shook her head and scanned the dock herself. _There_. Further down the pier was a ship raising its masts, workers lugging heavy crates into the gaping hull. Brienne grabbed her bags and strode down the pier in her ground-eating strides. She heard Podrick puffing behind her. He’d catch up.

A man stood at the end of the gangway, supervising the cargo being loaded, his back to her. His sleeveless shirt showed off golden skin and hard, corded muscles. He was taller than her, easily clearing her six-foot-three height, with brilliant blue hair that glowed almost indigo in the bright morning light. 

“Sir,” she called out. “Might you have room for two more hard workers on your ship? We need to get to ---”

The man turned around and she sputtered to a stop. He was young, close to her age, with the most perfectly formed features she’d ever seen. His eyes were such a dark blue they were almost black, his cheekbones razor sharp, his nose balanced with military precision and his lush mouth should have graced a pampered princess, not a dock worker. 

“Where are you going?” he asked. 

Even his voice was perfect, smooth and melodious, seductive and commanding. She opened and closed her mouth, unable to form words.

“Were you speaking to me?” He looked her up and down carefully.

With effort, she ripped her gaze from him and looked down at the rough, worn planks under her feet. The hot blush covered her from head to toe but she forced herself to speak.

“Tyrosh.” Her voice sounded as rough and coarse as the wood planks. “My friend and I will work for passage to Tyrosh.”

He didn’t speak. She knew he was studying her, taking in her many faults. She closed her eyes, prepared for the harsh words she’d heard all her life. _Are you really a woman? I’ve never seen one as ugly as you_. 

“I see you have a sword,” he finally said. “Can you fight?”

She nodded but didn’t speak. Brienne was thankful she’d covered the distinctive lion’s head pommel after her disastrous run-in with the Hound. She might have already secured Arya Stark if she’d only hidden the Lannister sigil.

She could see Podrick out of the corner of her downcast eyes. He frowned at her then turned to the man.

“Yes, of course she can fight,” he said proudly. “My lady is one of the greatest fighters in all of Westeros. She has defeated men no one else had ever been able to defeat.”

“Is that right?” The man sounded amused.

“She did.” Podrick’s voice hardened with insistence. “In fact, she was a Kingsguard, an honor she won after a melee where she beat even the King’s existing guards.”

The man laughed. “Can she prove it?”

Brienne looked up then, her eyes blazing. Men had always laughed at her – until she’d put them in the dirt. This one would be no different. She would show him as she’d shown every other man before him.

“Yes, I can.” 

This time her voice was strong and sure, strengthened with her lifelong rage at the injustices of the world. Who was he to laugh at her? He was a man of such fine, beautiful features he should have been born a maid. Here she stood, so coarse and broad, a maid who should have been a man. She wasn’t a man, but she was still a _warrior_.

The man blinked, as though seeing her with new clarity. He held out his hand. “My name is Griff. Who are you?”

“I am Brienne of Tarth.” She gripped his forearm, a warrior’s greeting, not the delicate hand-holding reserved for ladies of the royal courts. “He’s Podrick Payne.”

Griff’s hand was rough and calloused, his grip strong and steady, just like hers. “Alright, Brienne of Tarth. Meet me back in here in one hour. Be ready to prove yourself. If you do, we’ll find a place for you on a ship going to Tyrosh.”

She nodded and released his arm. He didn’t release hers. Instead he stepped closer. “Don’t fail me, Brienne of Tarth. You won’t like the consequences.”

“I never fail.” She yanked her arm free. 

He was strong enough that the act didn’t cause his body to sway. Instead, he curled his fist and covered it with his other hand, as though holding something precious. His perfect mouth curved into a delighted smile. _Beauty_. That was his weapon, so sharp and well-used, the actions were unconscious. 

But she had a powerful weapon, too. _Oathkeeper_ could cut through anything, even a man who must have been crafted by the Maiden herself. Every man bled, every man fell, to her Valyrian steel.


	3. Fight Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne scowled, which didn’t make her features any more feminine, and pulled off her helm. “I may not be your idea of a woman but I’m a strong fighter. I’ll prove it.”

### Chapter 3: Fight Keeper

Brienne and Podrick returned to the dock an hour later. This time Podrick was faster since she was weighed down by her armor.

“It’s gone!” he cried out. “The ship is gone.”

The ship they’d seen docked earlier was indeed gone. Another ship swayed in its place but this one appeared empty.

“Of course, it’s gone,” Griff drawled from behind them. “Did you think we’d keep an entire shipping vessel in harbor just for you?”

She turned to face him, graceful now that she had the armor to hide her usual clumsy form. Griff strode down the planks, followed by two men even more colorful than him, more colorful and even taller. Both men had unnaturally red hair and a king’s ransom in gold arm rings from their left wrists almost to their elbows. Brienne was used to towering over others but now she was forced to look up to meet their eyes.

She pushed back her helm. “You said we’d have passage to Tyrosh if I could prove I was a good fighter.”

“Aye, you will.” One of the men, his red beard tied into three points with gold beads, nodded. “First you show us what you can do then we put you on a ship.”

The third man, even taller than the other two, scratched his dark-stubbled jaw. “Oye, Griff, you said the fighter would be a woman. This one’s no woman.”

Brienne scowled, which didn’t make her features any more feminine, and pulled off her helm. “I may not be your idea of a woman but I’m a strong fighter. I’ll prove it.”

“Easy, Tristan.” Griff leaned against a pole. “You’re insulting a former Kingsguard.”

“Kingsguard, eh? They got women guarding their kings now? No wonder they’re all dead. I hear they’re down to one Baratheon whelp left.” Tristan spat on the dock near Brienne’s foot. “Rumor has it, he’s not even really a stag but the Kingslayer’s bastard.”

Podrick stiffened beside her but didn’t speak. Brienne put her hand on _Oathkeeper_ , assuring herself the pommel was safely covered.

“Are we here to fight or gossip?” She gritted her teeth. “Which of you am I to beat?”

The three-point bearded man laughed. “Not in all that metal, you’re not. This is Essos. You only wear armor if you want to cook in the sun or drown in the sea.”

Tristan guffawed too while Griff pulled away from the pole. He nimbly jumped onto the deck of the ship beside them. He bowed to her, left hand behind his back, right hand held out to her, a perfect show of courtly grace.

“It seems you’re overdressed for the occasion, my Lady.” He’d added a sword belt but was still in his sleeveless shirt and light breeches.

“I’m no lady,” she snapped, the reflex ingrained.

She ignored his hand and clambered on board. Tristan guffawed again as he boarded, lightly shoving Griff so he stood upright again.

“Really? That’s what your friend called you.” Griff nods to Podrick, who carefully, gingerly crossed the threshold. “No matter. I’m the fastest sword in the free cities. You don’t stand a chance against me with or without all that weight.”

“Podrick, help me with my fastenings.” Whatever shyness she’d felt when she’s first met this man was gone. Now there was only the drive to prove herself, to fight the battle she never won, no matter how often or how honorably she fought.

It took Podrick only a moment to help her out of the shiny blue armor. He gathered up the panels and moved away, setting the pieces down on the hardwood deck and crouching down beside them.

She unfastened her sword belt and withdrew _Oathkeeper_. Her clothes were already sticky with sweat, clinging unpleasantly to her back and shoulders. She handed the belt to Podrick and shrugged her shoulders to loosen them.

“Who first, Serjeant?” Tristan asked, now looking her up and down with more interest.

“Griff,” Serjeant said. “She’s got a fine Valyrian steel sword. Let’s see how it fares against _Firestorm_.”

Brienne stared at the long, slim sword Griff withdrew from his belt. Unlike _Oathkeeper’s_ ornate pommel, Firestorm had a simple swirl design with a flame at the end and gold flame licks jutting from the hilt. The oval centerpiece was empty. Even without a jewel, the sword was magnificent, long and slim, lightly balanced in Griff’s hand.

“Shall we dance?” He repeated his bow, left hand behind his back, sword pointed to the deck, as graceful as a lady, as courtly as a prince.

She raised _Oathkeeper_ and nodded. He tapped his sword against hers and she attacked. Her usual approach was to aim straight at the body to disarm her opponent before he could react. She twisted her blade in a tight circle around his sword to yank it from his hand. Griff pulled back, his hold straight and firm followed by a hard thrust that would have struck her if she hadn’t blocked it with brute strength. Next, she pushed forward aggressively, trying to knock him off balance. He leaned out, so her shoulder just brushed his chest and threw her off balance. He struck fast but her strength saved her again, allowing her to knock aside this blow, too.

She normally wore down her opponents with her stamina but he wouldn’t allow her to steady herself, causing her to waste energy keeping her balance. She jumped back at his next thrust and finally found an opening. Instead of going up, aiming for his body, she went in low, forcing him to shuffle to avoid her blade. He brought his sword down to block the blow and she shoved her shoulder under his chin, shutting his mouth with an audible snap. He stumbled back.

“First blood to you, my Lady.” He smiled to show off his bloody teeth. “Enjoy it. You won’t get another hit on me.”

His next thrust was straight on, forcing her to use the same awkward downward block that had left him open. But she was solid and held her balance. She’d barely taken a desperately needed breath before he shoved his sword straight up, using his strength to throw her back. She stumbled a few steps and he advanced with a series of lightning strikes that forced her to use both hands to keep _Oathkeeper_ in her grip. Then he twisted, getting his leg behind hers and she went down.

“Yield?” He asked, breathing as heavily as she did.

“No!” she snarled, rolling away and springing to her feet. “I still have my sword.”

“And a fine sword it is,” he agreed. “I might have to claim it when I defeat you.”

“You can try, but you won’t take my sword.” She thrust again, double-handed, this time striking up, trying to break his grip on _Firestorm_.

His grip was true. But she was wearing him down. Sweat covered him, making him glow in the hot midday sun, forcing him to use his left hand to swipe his wet hair out of his eyes.

She snorted. “Perhaps you’d be a better swordsman if you cut your hair in a more practical manner.”

She shook her head to throw off the sweat, her shorn locks falling into her forehead but not long enough to block her vision.

“I don’t want to be practical.” He twirled, sword raised high, so fast she could barely see his feet moving. Suddenly they were shoulder to shoulder. “Then how would I be unforgettable?”

She struck at him but he twirled away, again moving so fast she couldn’t follow his feet. His steps were so quick and so light he seemed to be dancing, not fighting. Instead of his feet, she watched his upper body, trying to anticipate his next move, determined not to let him lead her. Then his style changed, slowing down, less flamboyant, more disciplined.

It took her a moment to catch his rhythm, to match his steps then suddenly they were dancing, their Valyrian steel sparking against each other as they twisted and turned, thrusted and parried, neither giving nor gaining ground. They tested each other for weaknesses, his speed again her strength, his grace against her balance, his assurance against her determination, their gasps audible, their sweat raining down onto each other.

“That’s enough.” Serjeant grunted, a quarter hour later. “We don’t have all day to watch you prance around.”

Brienne and Griff stumbled away from each other, both unsteady and breathing hard, soaked in their own and the other’s sweat. Podrick brought her waterskin. She drank it down quickly, nearly choking as she tried to drink and breathe at the same time, not caring that water ran down her face and neck. The coolness was welcome after the long, frustrating fight.

“My Lady, Ser, are you okay?” Podrick slapped her on the back.

She nodded but kept her focus on Griff. He watched her with a narrow-eyed gaze and a hard, straight mouth. Then he frowned and turned away, vaulting the railing in a single smooth motion. His gaze held hers as he disappeared from view.

Her mouth fell open. “Did he…did he just jump overboard?”

Serjeant shook his head and muttered under his breath.

“Ha! The boy had to cool off.” Tristan barked out laughter.

“Should we help him?” Podrick looked over the rail. “I don’t see him below.”

Tristan was now rolling on the deck, laughing so hard he had to hold his stomach. Even Serjeant cracked a smile.

“He’s part fish. He’ll be fine.” Serjeant glanced over the side. “He’s not used to losing.”

“He didn’t lose,” Brienne muttered. “You stopped our fight.”

“It was a draw,” Serjeant corrected. “For Griff, that’s as bad as losing.” He glared at Tristan. “Get up, fool. It’s your turn.”

It took Tristan a moment to catch his breath. Then he stood up, towering over Brienne. His smile showed a mouthful of broken teeth.

“Let’s see how long you can hold up against Tristan,” Serjeant said. “He’s not as fast as Griff but he’s ten times stronger.”

“Aye,” Tristan agreed. “The pretty boy takes down men while I battle elephants.”

Serjeant snorted. “Maybe a dwarf elephant just weaned from its mother’s teat.”

Tristan’s face turned dull red and Brienne readied herself for a hard beating. She’d fought men like him before, accustomed to using their brute strength instead of tactic to beat their opponents. They didn’t like being challenged and liked being challenged by women even less.

Tristan cracked his knuckles. “I’ve never hurt a woman before. I’ll stop when you say you had enough.”

Brienne stared at him. She’d never met a man who _didn’t_ like hurting women, especially women they feared could hurt them in return.

“Fine,” she agreed then lifted her chin. “And I’ll stop when you say you’ve had enough.”

He snorted and hunkered down, shoulders rounded, arm muscles bulging. She was too seasoned to fall for the easy ploy of attacking him head-on. Instead she feigned left, waited for him to shift his stance, then delivered a hard punch to his midsection. He barely reacted; the blow didn’t hurt him in the least. For Brienne, it was like hitting a practice dummy wrapped in cloth; hard enough to reverberate up her arm but not hard enough to break bones.

He hit her body with a straight lower cut, square in her abdomen. The air rushed out of her lungs and her midsection ached, but his arm was still controlled. He _had_ tempered the blow. Tristian had been serious about stopping, waiting for her to nod before he advanced.

But nod she did and advance he did. She dodged the next blow but wasn’t so lucky a third time. This one caught her shoulder, sending her stumbling back. Her well-honed strength and balance kept her from falling but she’d lost all ground. Again, he straightened and waited for her to signal she wanted to keep fighting.

She nodded and came out swinging, a series of sharp blows to his midsection that seemed to hurt her more than him. Her arms ached and her hands burned but he only grunted, absorbing her blows. Then he caught her with an upper cut under her jawline that snapped her head back so hard she saw stars. She stumbled away but he remained where he was, waiting for her reaction.

No man had ever shown her such restraint or had as much self-mastery over himself. Even the most mild-mannered man turned into a beast when challenged, the desire to dominate and punish a woman who dared go against him too great to control. Tristan, for his massive bulk and hardened face, was more noble than men who’d called themselves knights.

But his gallantry was also a weakness, one she could exploit to end this battle while she could still stand. She nodded again and he straightened. She time, she went low and kicked at his leg. He didn’t move aside but absorbed the blow, using both hands on her shoulders to push her back. He advanced and she tried again. This time his hands hit her breastbone, making her stumble back a few steps.

He waited until she nodded and advanced again. She skipped back, out of his reach. He kept gaining ground, until the ship’s railing pressed against her back. He grinned. She grinned back at him. Suddenly she went down to her knees, kicking his leg out, lower this time since she now knew where to kick. He fell forward, onto her back, but she was ready. She pressed her hands to the deck, catching his full weight. She used her arms and the railing at her side to push herself back up, the brute still on her back. She twisted hard and he tumbled off her back, over the side and into the murky water.

Tristan fell with such a hard splash the water sprayed her. She wrinkled her nose at the foul smell then turned when she heard laughter and clapping. Podrick was clapping energetically while Griff, who had apparently re-boarded during the fight, applauded with less enthusiasm, probably because he was too busy laughing.

“Excellent work, my Lady,” he said. “Tristan truly needed the bath. Of course, now the water will stink like him.”

Brienne turned to Serjeant to gage his reaction. He nodded then leaned over the side to look down into the murky water.

“That’s too bad,” he said. “Now she has to go in, too.”

“What?” Brienne straightened. She looked from Serjeant to Griff then back again. “Why?”

“You’re working on a ship in the sea,” Serjeant pointed out. “Show me you can swim and handle yourself in the water.”

She sighed but nodded. Like Griff had done before her, she vaulted the railing and dropped into the water below. She’d dived from the cliffs on Tarth all her life, so her body instinctively knew to tighten and straighten. She could easily have bobbed back to the surface but stayed low and swam underwater to the other side of the pier. Her thin shirt, breeches and waterlogged boots were dead weight as she hauled herself up. 

“My Lady, Ser!” Podrick called out. She heard a loud splash. “My Lady, Ser! Where are you?”

She looked up, blinking rapidly to wash the filthy, stinging water out of her eyes. But Podrick wasn’t at her side as she had expected. She dragged herself up and crossed the dock. Podrick was in the water, where she’d splashed down, waving his arms frantically, churning water in every direction.

“Podrick!” she yelled down to him. “What are you doing?”

“Rescuing you.” He turned to her and stopped moving his arms. Immediately, he sank below the water.

“For Gods’s sake!” She dove back in beside him.

He didn’t fight her when she wrapped her arm around his waist and propelled them up to break the surface. She swam back to the dock where Griff was on his knees, reaching out to help her. Together, they dragged Podrick out of the water.

“Why did you jump in when you can’t swim?” she demanded.

Podrick coughed and spit out sea water. “I can swim, but not like you.” He coughed again. “You were under for so long I feared you needed help.”

Griff pounded him on the back, forcing Podrick to cough and spit some more. “My friend, you’re loyal but not too smart. Does she look like she needs help? And how were you planning to pull her out of the water?”

Podrick shook his head, looking small and miserable. Serjeant appeared beside them. He handed Brienne a gold piece in the shape of a pyramid. It was the size of a coin but unlike any she’d seen before. One side was impressed with the image of an elephant’s head, the second side a dragon’s head, the third side a horse’s head while the last depicted a skull.

She turned it over it her fingers. “What’s this?”

“Show it at the inn at the top of the quay, the _Gold House_ ,” Serjeant ordered. “They’ll give you a hot bath and a hot meal. Be back here in two hours. We leave with or without you.”

“We’re hired?” Brienne asked. “You’ll take us to Tyrosh?”

“Aye.” Serjeant nodded at the piece. “You just earned a place with the _Golden Company_.”


	4. Sea Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We are not part of them.” Brienne kept her voice low. “We are only working on their ship to get to Tyrosh as quickly as possible. Our goal is to find Arya Stark, not chase glory down the Narrow Sea.”

### Chapter 4: Sea Keeper

“I can’t believe we’re wearing these.” Podrick’s voice was barely above a whisper. “We’re wearing the uniform of the _Golden Company_.”

He smoothed down the golden tunic he wore over his clean shirt and breeches, looking bright and freshly scrubbed and far too excited. He skipped to keep up with Brienne. She also looked down at his tunic.

“I can’t believe we’re wearing them, either.” Her tone was distinctly sour. “I don’t understand what Serjeant was thinking.”

“He was thinking we’d be proud to wear the sign of the bravest, strongest and most disciplined fighting company in Essos.” Podrick finally caught sight of her deep scowl. “You’re not pleased, my Lady, Ser?”

“How does he expect us to capture pirates when we announce our presence with these ridiculous garments?” Brienne shook her own tunic, as if hoping the bright golden-yellow would fall off the shimmery, silken material.

“He must have a plan. The _Golden Company_ is famous for never breaking a contract and always completing their service,” Podrick pointed out. “They wouldn’t have their reputation if their word wasn’t as good as gold.” He paused and the awestruck expression returned. “And now we are a part of them.”

Brienne stopped walking, forcing him to skid to a stop. The dock was busy with midday workers, tradesmen and merchants. Even so, everyone gave them a respectful distance, eyeing the obvious golden tunics, careful not to touch or meet the gaze of the most fearsome warriors in Essos. She ignored them to focus on Podrick.

“We are not part of them.” Brienne kept her voice low. “We are only working on their ship to get to Tyrosh as quickly as possible. Our goal is to find Arya Stark, not chase glory down the Narrow Sea.”

Podrick nodded. “Yes, my Lady, Ser, but isn’t it only right we give them fair effort while we’re with them?”

She stood very straight. “Of course. It would be dishonorable to fail our side of the bargain.”

His grin rivaled the sun. “Then we _are_ part of the _Golden Company_ until we dock in Tyrosh.”

She scowled but nodded. They walked on to where Serjeant stood on the dock, his back to them, yelling orders to men wearing the highly visible gold tunics. He turned his head and grunted at them when they stopped beside them.  
“You’re finally here,’ he observed.

“Exactly when ordered to appear,” Brienne pointed out.

“Can I be of assistance, Ser Serjeant?” Podrick asked. “I can help carry in supplies.”

“Don’t call me ‘ser’, I’m not a knight,” Serjeant ordered. “We’re all officers in the Company. Serjeant is my rank. My name is Loth but you call me Serjeant, not Ser Serjeant, understood?”

Podrick flushed. “I’m sorry, Serjeant, ser. I meant no disrespect.”

“Stand up straight, boy,” Serjeant ordered. “You’re now part of the most elite brotherhood of exiles in the known world.”

“Brotherhood of exiles,” Brienne repeated. “Do you still consider yourself Westerosi?”

“Aye,” Serjeant agreed. “Some of our men are exiles or sons of exiles. They’d kill for the chance to retrieve the lands and titles they’ve lost.” His eyes narrowed. “Many are descendants of the Stormlands, like you.”

Brienne nodded. “Perhaps the day will come when you’ll be welcomed back home.”

Serjeant turned back to watch the ship. “Until then, we train, fight and maintain our reputation. That’s also why we accepted this contract.”

“To train your forces to fight at sea?” Brienne questioned.

Serjeant’s head turned sharply to look at her. “What do you know about that?”

“I know the _Golden Company_ is the greatest fighting force on land, with men, horses and war elephants. But elephants and horses are useless in the sea.” Brienne paused to watch his face flush. “Plus, there are additional enemies on the water, including disease and sickness. It isn’t enough that your men are undefeated on land. You must master the seas if you want to build the company to truly be the greatest fighting force in the world.”

Serjeant nodded. “Our land force is unbeatable but we don’t have a naval presence – yet.”

“And you won’t with these blindingly bright tunics,” Brienne pointed out.

Serjeant scowled. “The gold is our symbol; smooth, clean, with no allegiances to any house or family but the one we chose to join.”

'Beneath the gold, the bitter steel'. Brienne recalled their motto. Under the shine of their obvious wealth, the discipline of their perfectly regimented men, and the drama of their war elephants was the unbending steel of the greatest free company in the known world.

“A fearsome sight indeed,” Brienne agreed, “when you’re charging an oncoming army but utterly useless when you’re trying to trap serpents and eels.”

Serjeant straightened. “What?”

“How many pirate ships have you crushed, how many pirates have you captured while flashing your ridiculous warning signal?” Brienne straightened to try to match his considerable height.

Serjeant scowled. “Their ships are smaller, lighter and faster than the ones we protect. But,” he loomed over her again, “the ones we do protect haven’t suffered a single attack. Our master-of-ships, a former Lyseni pirate, is developing a strategy for taking down pirates.”

“So, until then you’ll allow your men to be guards instead of warriors? How will they learn to fight at sea if they don’t engage the enemy?” she asked calmly, refusing to be intimidated.

“Do you have a plan to engage pirates?” he demanded. “Better than a former Lyseni pirate?”

“What does a pirate know about taking out other pirates?” she demanded. “I lived on an island all of my life. Pirate attacks are common. We had to learn how to stop them, quickly and immediately, as we didn’t have a full company of the greatest fighters in the world to save us.”

“Our way will be better; efficient and clean.” Serjeant insisted.

“But your way doesn’t exist yet. Until it does, your master-of-ship’s plans are just words.” Her mouth curled. “And words are wind.”

He stood tall, hands on hips. “What do you propose?”

“Do you have a ram ship?” she shot back.

He blinked. “What?”

“Can you get a ship that will hold one hundred men, weapons and supplies? One that looks like a good target for pirates?”

Serjeant nodded slowly. “Yes.”

She nodded in return. “And do you have a good blacksmith who will build a weapon without asking questions?”

He snorted. “Of course.”

“Take me to him.” She pulled off the golden tunic. “And take this. We won’t warn anyone of our approach. The men need to look like ordinary workers, not fighters.”

He took the tunic. “Have you done this before?”

Her smile was savage with anticipation. “Many, many times.”

 

Two days later, Brienne stood on the deck of the _Sea Keeper_ , watching the calm seas around them. Griff and Podrick stood beside her at the ship’s rail. 

“How long before we reach Tyrosh?” she asked Griff.

“Three days. We have calm waters and good headwind today.” He also looked around. “But no pirates.”

“Yesterday wasn’t a good day, the waters were rough and choppy,” she pointed out. “They won’t attack when they can’t board the ship they want to raid.”

“I can understand that.” Podrick held the rail with both hands, his complexion pale and a bit green.

“Pod, why don’t you lie down below deck?” Griff suggested. 

“I’m better today,” the squire insisted. “The calm waters and fresh air help.”

“Ships on starboard port!” the lookout called. 

“How many?” Griff shouted up.

“Three,” the lookout reported. “One main ship and two small boats with oars.”

“The small boats are their lookouts,” Brienne explained. “They’ll check to see if we have protection and to determine if our ship is worth attacking.”

Serjeant came to join them, dressed in the same dull shirt and breeches as they wore. “So how do we convince them to attack us?”

Brienne smiled. “By using our secret weapon.”

She nodded to Podrick, who was dressed in a handsome blue jacket, black breeches and shiny boots. Podrick turned a shade greener. 

“Do you remember what to do, Pod?” Griff asked him.

Podrick grimaced. “Stand near the captain and look terrified? Yes, I can do that.”

“Good man.” Griff patted him on the back. “Off you go.”

“Alert the rest of the men,” Serjeant ordered Griff.

“But quietly!” Brienne hissed the reminder to him.

Griff nodded to indicate he had heard her. 

“Now, remember to wait for my command.” Brienne watched the approaching boats as they came closer. “No one should leave their positions until we capture the main ship. The boats don’t have enough men to board us. Once they see Podrick and decide we’re helpless, they’ll go back to the ship. That contains their fighters. We’ll disable them on my signal.”

“Aye,” Serjeant nodded. “The battering ram is ready. But we need perfect timing to lock it in place just before we crash into their ship.”

“Yes.” She glanced down then away from the modification in the _Sea Keeper’s_ bow. 

A hole large enough to fit a man’s head had been cut into the wood. Currently it was covered with a matching wood door to disguise it and control water influx. They couldn’t open it until it was too late for the pirate ship to retreat from them. 

“The ram men are ready,” Griff returned. “Everyone is moving into place.”

Brienne looked over her shoulder as the men moved into positions, dressed as simply as she was, their gleaming swords held under their legs as they knelt, out of sight of the oncoming boats. Ropes had been stretched across the deck and tied down at each end, to give the men hand holds to brace them at impact. Other men filled the steps leading below quarters, tense but controlled, as they waited for their turns.

She, Griff and Serjeant watched the boats coming closer. Podrick, resplendent and sickly beside the simply dressed captain, held the rail with both hands and visibly shuddered. The pirates below laughed and shifted their course to return to the main ship.

“Excellent work, Pod,” Griff called up softly.

Podrick nodded weakly, still holding the rail for dear life.

They waited, tense and expectant, as the small boats were hauled into the main ship. The pirates shifted their sails, allowing the ship to steer towards them. Brienne kept her breathing deep and even with effort. Sweat and anticipation soured the air around her. Still, the company men moved calmly and carefully, too disciplined and experienced to give away the game.

“The ship is approaching,” the lookout called. 

More men came up on deck, crawling on their knees, sliding their swords across the wood, to keep them out of the pirates’ sights. An officer nodded to Brienne, taking his position at the top of the steps. She knew another officer was positioned at the bottom of the stairs, ready to call to the men on the lower deck holding the metal ramming pole, waiting for the command to shove it through the hole and lock it into place. 

Serjeant went to the captain and patted Podrick on the shoulder. Griff moved closer to a barrel near them, where they’d hidden their swords after their morning practice. She been surprised when Griff, and all the other men, willingly practiced with her, even gave her tips and praised her swordplay. The knights in Renly’s Kingsguard barely spoke to her, considered it an insult that Renly had allowed her to join them. They never helped her sharpen her skills and possibly improve further beyond them. 

The pirate ship was now close enough that Brienne could see the men, the sun gleaming on their uncovered blades. The scavengers made no attempt to hide them. The blood rushed in her ears; the heat of upcoming battle flushed her cheeks.

“Captain!” Podrick screeched dramatically. “They have _weapons_!”

The ship was close enough that Brienne could hear their laughter. They wouldn’t be laughing for long. Just another moment more and they’d be in catch range. Almost, almost, _almost_ …

“Now!” Brienne called.

The officers echoed her command down to the hull of the ship. She heard a dull thud as the ramming pole was shoved out the opening and the screech of metal on metal as it was locked into place. 

“Rope holds!” The captain called as he turned the wheel. 

The men grabbed the ropes strung out across the deck as the ships collided and the rammer tore into the pirate ship’s hull, locking it against their ship. The reverberation shuddered through the _Sea Keeper_ but the men held tight. Brienne, her grip on the railing white-knuckled, looked over to the pirates’ ship. The impact had knocked them all off their feet, some even looked dazed.

“Take them!” she yelled.

Then _Oathkeeper_ was in her hand and Griff was at her side. They leapt across to the pirate ship, swords out and slashing even as the pirates scrambled to their feet. The rest of the company swarmed over behind them, their battle cries and singing steel drowning out the screams of their opponents. 

The battle was ridiculously short. The _Golden Company_ was too organized and disciplined to be challenged by the sea looters. Brienne had barely even lost her breath before the fighting ended, their adversaries on their knees or on their backs, their blood slick pools decorating the deck. The men whooped, raised their blood-soaked swords and looked to her. 

“Brienne, raise your sword,” Griff ordered.

She looked around. “What?”

“You led the raid, raise your sword,” he urged her. “Over your head.”

Brienne frowned but raised her sword high. Griff touched his sword to hers then the other men swarmed around them, trying to touch their swords to hers, too. They looked at her expectantly. Griff leaned close and whispered the words into her ear. She stared at him, wide-eyed and stunned. He nodded in encouragement.

Emotions played across her face, nearly causing it to crumple. But it didn’t, _she_ didn’t. Her voice was strong and sure.

“Beneath the gold, the bitter steel!”

The men roared with approval. They repeated the chant. Suddenly, Tristan and another giant of a man raised her on their shoulders. She laughed and held her sword up to the sky, glowing and triumphant. The men cheered again. She had to turn her face to the sun to hide the sudden wash of tears. 

She was a member of the _Golden Company_ ; accepted, appreciated, victorious.

She was a _warrior_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, is anyone reading this story? If so, please let me know by leaving a comment. I'd like to know if I should continue posting. I've got this story 80% plotted, meaning I know how it will end and the plot points to hit to achieve my ending. I like to leave some room for the characters to speak for themselves and to explain any points that readers question. 
> 
> I love getting feedback and welcome your suggestions.


	5. Faith Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne looked around, trying not to appear as discouraged as Podrick sounded. They’d spent the whole day working their way up and down the dock. No one admitted to having seen the missing Stark girl.

### Chapter 5: Faith Keeper

Three days later, Brienne and Podrick hauled their bags up the steps of the _Sea Keeper_ and dropped them onto the deck. Like Braavos, the dock in Tyrosh was busy with merchants and sailors. However, while most of the Baarvosi wore muted colors, dulled by the sun, the Tyroshi people were brighter, wearing jeweled colors in their fine fabrics and richly-hued hair.

Serjeant and Griff came up behind them. Brienne squinted as the combination of their vibrant clothes and the bright sunlight assaulted her eyes. Serjeant’s red shirt almost matched his hair color while Griff wore a sunny yellow shirt with dark green breeches. 

“You did good work, Brienne of Tarth.” Serjeant looked from her to Podrick. “You too, Pod.”

“Aye, Pod,” Tristian called from the steps. “Strong fighters are easy to find. Brave men who can act like cowards are rare.”

Podrick blushed bright red, helping him blend in with the crowd, despite his sun-bleached shirt and worn boots. “We each do what we can.”

“True,” Griff agreed, flashing his almost equally blindingly beautiful smile. “But not everyone does it as well as you did. Should we trade giving you fighting lessons for you giving us acting lessons?”

Brienne frowned at them. “We thank you for bringing us to Tyrosh. We gave good service for our passage. Now we need to get back to our work.”

Griff frowned. “You’re not staying with us?”

“No,” Brienne turned to study the dock and the quay beyond it. “We’re looking for someone.”

“Be careful here,” Griff warned them. “Tyroshi merchants are greedy and will cheat you out of your entire purse before you know it.”

“We’re not looking for a merchant,” Podrick explained. “We’re looking for a girl.”

“A girl?” Tristan repeated. He looked from Podrick to Brienne and back. “Is she for you or for her?”

Podrick’s mouth dropped open and he flushed again. Brienne growled at the red-headed giant. She started to reply but Griff spoke first.

“Nah, Tristan,” he drawled. “I think our Lady Brienne prefers men, but only big, strong men.”

Tristan perked up, muscles bunching. “I’m a big, strong man.” 

Griff snorted. “Only compared to your mother.”

“Leave my mother out of this,” Tristan snapped back. “What about your mot---”

“Enough!” Serjeant roared. “Shut up, both of you!”

Brienne and Podrick shared a shocked glance. They’d gotten accustomed to the easy insults the men threw around. This was the first time Serjeant had stopped the mostly harmless braggarts.

He turned back to Brienne. “Do you have the token I gave you?”

“Yes,” Brienne confirmed. “Do you want it back?”

“No, keep it.” Serjeant shook his head. “Show it to any merchant on the docks. They’ll direct you to somebody from the company.”

“You’re staying here, ser?” Podrick asked.

“Aye, we’re expanding into Tyrosh now that the _Second Sons_ have joined Daenerys Targaryen. They’ve moved most of their men to Slaver’s Bay, leaving Tyrosh for us.”

“Are they also Westerosi exiles, ser?” Podrick asked.

“No, they’re the second sons of nobles or rich families,” Griff explained. “They’re not in line to inherit wealth or property so they work as sellswords. Or they did. Now they follow the Dragon Queen.”

Griff exchanges a dark look with Serjeant and even Tristan stiffened. Brienne looked at them.

“You take issue with the Dragon Queen?” she asked quietly.

“No,” Serjeant surveyed the busy dock. “No issues with her.”

“Does she really have dragons?” Podrick looked around, as if expecting to find one sitting on the dock. “Or was that just a story to scare her enemies?”

“Not a story. She really has dragons.” Serjeant’s hands curled into fists.

Brienne glanced at his fists. “How big are they?”

“Are they the size of cats?” Podrick asked hopefully. “I heard the last Targaryen dragons were the size of house cats.”

“The one I saw was bigger than my horse.” Tristan spoke. “Its wings were more than double that length.”

“A horse?” Podrick froze. “You _saw_ a real dragon bigger than a war horse with wings that spread four times that size? When? Where?”

The men exchanged glances again.

“It was seen flying over Braavos a month ago,” Serjeant explained. “A big, black dragon. Riots nearly started when it appeared but it hasn’t been seen again.” 

“You said the Dragon Queen was in Slaver’s Bay,” Brienne reminded. “It takes a full month to travel from Braavos to Meereen.”

“For a man on a horse, not for a winged beast,” Griff corrected. “It probably took the dragon half a day to cross.”

Brienne blinked. “So fast?”

“A raven can cross from Tyrosh to Tarth in three hours. A dragon is a hundred times bigger than a raven.” Griff pointed out.

“Does…did it breathe fire?” Podrick asked in a small voice. 

The men just looked at him. Podrick made a sound between a gasp and squeak while the others fell silent. Now Brienne understood their grim glances. A beast that large, and possibly still growing, able to fly great distances and breathe fire, was a terrifying weapon. What man could stand against such a threat? Worse, the Dragon Queen had _three_ such weapons.

 

“Should we find a room at an inn, my Lady, Ser?” Podrick asked several hours later. “The sun will set soon then we won’t be able to tell Arya Stark from anyone else.”

Brienne looked around, trying not to appear as discouraged as Podrick sounded. They’d spent the whole day working their way up and down the dock. No one admitted to having seen the missing Stark girl. 

A woman approached them from the shadows of a nearby alleyway. She was beautiful with thick dark hair, dark eyes and a heavy blood-red gown. 

“There are no wolves in Tyrosh,” she said in a gentle, musical accent.

“Who are you?” Brienne put her hand on _Oathkeeper_ , an instinctive act of protection. “How did you know we were looking for a wolf?”

The woman walked back to the relative quite and privacy of the darkening back street. Brienne and Podrick exchanged glances and followed after her. The woman glanced at the sword, then back up to Brienne’s face. 

“I am Kinvara,” she announced. “High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis.”

Brienne pulled Podrick back, stepping in front of him. She scowled fiercely at the woman, her hand on _Oathkeeper_.

“Stay back, witch,” she ordered. “We will not be prey for your sacrifices.”

The woman stopped a few meters away from them. “I came to help, Brienne of Tarth.”

Brienne pulled _Oathkeeper_ out of its sheath. “How do you know my name?”

Kinvara pressed her hands together. “I know many things. I am the Flame of Truth, the Light of Wisdom, and the First Servant of the Lord of Light.”

“I know all about your lord,” Brienne sneered. “I know he’s fond of telling weak-minded people to burn men alive.” 

“No, men and women make mistakes, not our Lord,” Kinvara insisted. “The Lord guides but many do not have the knowledge to interpret his visions.”

“And you do? Why would I trust you?” Brienne demanded. “How can I be sure you know any more than the red witch who guides Stannis Baratheon?”

“Because I know you and your purpose for being here,” Kinvara said. “Your true purpose. It is not to find a little grey-eyed wolf.”

“The wolf is all I want,” Brienne insisted. “Leave us, we don’t want your Lord’s guidance.”

“You may not want it but you need it,” Kinvara insisted. “You came to Tyrosh for a reason.”

“I came because an old man convinced me the wolf was here.”

Kinvara shook her head slowly. “No, you came because you knew, in your heart, that you have a great destiny.”

Brienne blinked. “That’s what the Ironborn priest said, too.”

“Ironborn priest? Not only the Lord of Light summoned you?” Kinvara’s pale skin drained to milky white in the gathering dusk. “You don’t understand the grave importance of your journey, Lady Brienne. If you don’t believe in my Lord, do you the hold with the Drowned God or the Seven, perhaps the Old Gods and the New? Do you believe the faith in your own heart?”

“Yes, of course I do,” Brienne said slowly.

The priestess’s voice became urgent, a sharp contrast to her earlier calmness. “Then you know everyone is what they are and where they are for a reason.” 

Kinvara stepped closer but stopped when Brienne held up _Oathkeeper_. The priestess’s tight face smoothed when she looked at the sword. Her lips curved into a small smile.

“This is part of the sword once carried by the Warden of the North, Ned Stark.” Kinvara nodded to _Oathkeeper_. “It was melted down for a reason. You carry one part of it. Joffery the Cruel was gifted the other part. But it didn’t stay with him for long, did it?”

She paused as Brienne glanced at her sword. Brienne pressed her lips together but didn’t speak. Kinvara continued.

“Soon that part will be with Joffery’s true father, the _Kingslayer_ , Jamie Lannister.” She raised her eyebrows at Brienne’s harshly drawn breath, then continued. “This is also as intended. The Lord guides us all. I am his word. My vision is clear.”

“You say you have a vision for me? I’m honored,” Brienne sneered.

“You are more than honored, Brienne of Tarth.” Kinvara’s voice was calm, her belief in her own truth clear in her eyes. “You are the light in the darkness.”

Brienne and Podrick share a shocked glance.

“What is your vision for me?” Brienne asked reluctantly.

Kinvara smiled. “I see you floating between the sun and a star, running with wolves and lions, soaring with dragons and eagles, parting the blackest clouds and holding lighting in your hand.”

Brienne and Podrick look at each other again,

“I don’t understand,” Brienne insisted. “What does that mean?”

Kinvara smiled gently. “My vision is true. I looked into the flames and I see all that surrounds you. Your path is clear. But you must hurry for time is short.”

“Hurry where?” Brienne demanded. “I don’t know where you want me to go.”

“You must ride past the city, go south of the rising sun, into the Disputed Lands.” Kinvara stepped closer. “There you will find your guide.”

“My guide? How will I know this guide? Will there be another guide after him? How do I know this isn’t some trick?”

“You know this is no trick.” Kinvara was now so close they could feel her unnatural warmth. “It isn’t just my Lord who guides you. Look inside yourself. You’ve always known that yours was not the ordinary path. But this journey you must make alone.” She looked at Podrick then back to Brienne. “This is your truth, only yours.”

“I’m her squire,” Podrick objected. “I have to be with her.”

Kinvara shook her head slowly. “No, Podrick Payne, you have another task. You must be Lady Brienne’s eyes and ears. But do not fear. You will be reunited soon. This I have also seen.” 

She turned back to Brienne. “Remember my vision. I am the Flame of Truth and can tell you no lies. Have faith, Brienne of Tarth. You will return to Tyrosh reborn and step into a destiny brighter than the flames themselves.”

Brienne stared at her, unable to form words. Kivara touched her hand still holding _Oathkeeper_ , her unnatural warmth causing tingles to burn under Brienne’s skin.

“But you must hurry, Lady Brienne.” Kinvara’s eyes burned with internal fire. “You know, for you have already been told. The reign of the Night Queen will soon begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah! Brienne finally got SOME respect in the show. However, it’s not enough for me. I want her to be the ultimate winner. As she will be in this story! I like to take cannon events and manipulate them to fit my story. I want to connect the events from the books and show to come to a supportable conclusion. It will be very different than the show's ending, but it will still be believable (I hope).
> 
> I love getting feedback and welcome your suggestions. Thanks for reading.


	6. Destiny Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This could not be her fate; alone, defenseless, in a foreign land, dead by her own sword.  
> She could not fail Catelyn Stark.  
> She could not fail destiny.

### Chapter 6: Destiny Keeper

Brienne and Podrick stayed where they were, watching the Red Priestess melt into the rapidly gathering darkness. Brienne turned without a word and led the way out of the alley.

“Shall we find rooms, my Lady, Ser?” Podrick looked around, his voice as somber as his dark eyes.

They were at the south end of the dock, far from where the _Sea Keeper_ dropped them off earlier that day. Torches were being lit to fight the encroaching darkness, muting the vibrant colored fabrics and hair around them.

“We’ll go back to where we started.” She pulled the token out of the pouch she’d secured under her sword belt. “The company has outposts in the Disputed Lands. They may assist us in making arrangements to find the next guide.”

Brienne led and Podrick followed. It didn’t take long to find rooms and a meal at an inn near the wharf. The owner had glanced at the token and nodded towards the back room. They didn’t speak again until they settled into chairs in the dark dining hall. Several company men greeted them but none invited them to join their tables. 

“Do you believe the Red Priestess?” Podrick questioned, leaning over the table to keep his voice low.

Brienne nodded slowly. “Yes. I cannot believe that followers of two different, opposite, religions would somehow conspire to lure me to Tyrosh.”

“The priestess was shocked when you told her about the saltwater priest,” Podrick agreed. “How could they plan this? Fire and water destroy each other. They’d never agree.”

“So perhaps what they say is true.” Brienne paused as a maid brought over meat pies and ale.

Podrick smiled and inhaled with obvious pleasure, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head. The maid watched him take another deep sniff and shook her head. 

“Ain’t ever seen a body more happy to have pigeon pie,” she observed. 

“Anything that’s not from the sea,” Podrick breathed. “I need meat and gravy.”

The maid patted him on the head. “You’re a right cute one, ain’t you?”

“What about me?” A voice bellowed from the crowd. “Don’t you think I’m cute anymore?”

“Sure you are.” The woman sashayed over to the speaker. “He’s as cute as a button, you’re as cute as a bear.”

“Bear?” Another voice jeered. “Don’t you mean boar? Look at that mangled snout and tusks!”

Loud laugher broke out. Brienne used the cover of their japes to continue her conversation with Podrick. 

“I’ll make arrangements to send you to Tarth,” she said. “My father will keep you safe. Try to find out about the other wolf. I’ll send a raven as soon as I know where I’ll be.”

“My Lady, Ser, I don’t want to leave you here alone,” he insisted.

“I’ll be fine.” She patted the sword on her hip. “This is supposed to be my destiny. Remember, the priestess said we’d be reunited. Hopefully that means one of us will hear word on our missing wolves.”

“How long will you be in the Disputed Lands?” he asked.

“Disputed Lands?” Griff spoke from over Podrick’s shoulder. “You’re going to the Disputed Lands? Why?”

Brienne looked up at him and Tristan. She’d been so focused on her conversation she hadn’t noticed them. Griff pulled an empty chair from another table and sat down next to her. Across from them, Tristan did the same and even swiped a large chunk of Podrick’s pie.

“Hey, that’s mine!” Podrick objected.

“She’ll bring more.” Griff helped himself to Brienne’s ale. “Why do you want to go into the Disputed Lands? They’re dangerous.”

“Does the company have outposts there?” Brienne ignored his question. “Can I get fresh horses and supplies from them?”

“Why?’ Griff demanded again.

She shook her head. “I can’t tell you.”

He frowned at her. “It’s called the Disputed Lands because Myr and Lys continuously fight over them. There are scores of sellsword companies operating there. Hundreds of men go in but many less come out.”

“They’re lost in the fighting?” Brienne took the fresh flagon of ale from the maid and made room for more pie.

“Aye, some of them,” Tristan confirmed. “The rest are lost to slavers and wild animals.”

“Snakes, lions, wild boars,” Griff elaborated. “and now, dragons.”

Brienne stiffened. “The dragon was seen there?”

Griff and Tristan exchanged grim glances. Griff nodded and drank down his ale. Tristan refilled their cups and dug into his meal. 

“The rumor is the beast is a scout for the Dragon Queen.” Tristan grunted. “It travels over Essos to find her enemies and her allies.”

“Does it kill at will?” Podrick asked. “Or only when she commands it?”

Griff turned his empty cup in his hands, ignoring his pie. “Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor,”

Brienne and Podrick stared at him. Tristan bent over his plate, focused on his food. 

“What does that mean?” Podrick asked.

“What?” Griff looked up from his study and blinked, as though surprised to see them. 

“What you just said, what does it mean?” Podrick prompted.

“It’s something I’ve heard before,” Griff explained. “Zaldrīzes means dragon in High Valyrian. Buzdari is the word for slave.”

Pod stiffened. “So the dragon is her slave? He kills when she orders it?”

“No,” Griff shook his head. “Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos _daor_ means ‘a dragon is _not_ a slave’. She doesn’t command the dragon. It’s with her by choice. It wants to follow her.”

“Why?” Podrick asked. “Something that big, that powerful, it doesn’t have to follow orders.”

“Why does any man follow a king or a commander?” Brienne countered. “I followed Renly because he was my lord and I believed in the world he wanted to build. Why did you choose to stay with me, even after I offered to let you leave?”

“I stay because I believe in your honor.” Podrick spoke softly. “I’m a better man when I’m with you.”

They all stared at him, Griff and Tristan surprised, Brienne shocked. Podrick looked down at his plate.

“I follow our commander because the company gives me wealth, power and respect,” Tristan offered, his voice lower than usual.

“I stay because I also want to build a better world,” Griff said quietly. “One man alone cannot change the world, but one man with an army can lead a revolution.”

“You’re saying the dragon can make choices? It chooses to follow the Dragon Queen? Its capable of loyalty, reason and…” Podrick paused as he searched for the right word, “…love?”

Griff and Tristan looked at each other. 

“A man fights for what he lacks the most,” Griff’s eyes had the far-away look of a person whose focus is inward. “Gold can be replaced, honor can be subjugated, bones can be broken but love cannot be destroyed.”

Brienne, Podrick and Tristan stared at him in silence for a moment. Then Tristan snorted. 

“Pick up a harp and put that to song,” he suggested. “Or pick up your sword and fight for what you believe is yours.”

“Aye,” Griff blinked as if coming back to himself. “Regardless of the dragon’s reason, it chooses to stay with its queen. We think Volantis is her next target,” Griff said.

Podrick frowned. “She plans to take over all of Essos?”

Griff gave him a pitying look. “She plans to take over the known world. She wants Westeros and the Iron Throne. After she takes the Disputed Lands, she’ll have a straight path to Tyrosh.”

Brienne gasped. “Then from Tyrosh to Tarth?”

“I don’t know.” Griff stared into the empty ale flagon, as though the answers were there. “She can’t manage the slave cities she’s already taken. We think that’s why she accepted the _Second Sons_. They’re not as good as we are but they’re organized. They could hold the cities of Slaver’s Bay for her while she conquered new territory.”

“Her dragon has been to Braavos, too,” Brienne pointed out. “Does the company plan to align with the Dragon Queen? Will you join her in invading Tarth and Westeros?”

Griff shook his head. “We don’t know what her plans are. We’re waiting, like everyone else.”

Brienne’s eyes flashed. “I won’t allow it.”

He stared at her. “ _You_ won’t allow it?”

“Tarth is my home,” she reminded him. “My father is there. I’m his only heir. Everyone who lives on the island is my responsibility. I won’t allow it to be savaged.”

“We’re not savages nor are we at war with you.” He put his cup down with a hard thump. “The Dragon Queen hasn’t approached us. All this is just gossip.”

Brienne’s face flushed. “Serjeant told me some of your men are exiles or descendants of exiles. He said they’d kill for the opportunity to regain their ancestral homes and titles.”

Griff nodded, his expression carefully blank. “True.”

“The shortest distance to Westeros is to cross to Tarth. Is that why the company is setting up a base here in Tyrosh?” she demanded. “To cross the Narrow Sea when she commands you?”

“No one commands me,” Griff snarled, color flushing his cheeks and darkening his blue eyes to almost black. “You know nothing about losing your family and your home to bloodthirsty tyrants, to be forced to hide in the shadows while incompetent, undeserving pretenders destroy your legacy.” 

“Nor do I plan to learn,” she shot back.

He blinked. “What?”

“I also have a family, a home and a legacy to protect,” she pointed out. “I’ll do what I must. If the _Golden Company_ marches against Tarth, know you march against me.”

“We have no plans to march against you or Tarth.” Griff drew a deep breath and calmed visibly. “Again, this is all idle gossip.”

She looked at Podrick and Tristan. They were both silent, watching the fiery exchange between Brienne and Griff. She took a deep breath and calmed herself, too.

“Westeros is different than Essos.” She pushed away her unwanted meal. “Here you fight in the heat with light clothing. Speed and agility are the keys to winning battles. There, we wear armor and deal with colder weather the further north we travel. Strength and endurance are necessary to survive. The company cannot win in Westeros without planning. Special armor and equipment must be made if the company were to fight in the North.”

Griff’s expression grew thoughtful. “Perhaps we should stay in contact, send you a raven if the Dragon Queen does approach us. Having someone who already knows the land and how to fight on it would be an enormous advantage.”

“I won’t fight against my own people,” she insisted.

“And which people are those, my Lady?” he shot back. “Do you fight for or against the bastard king, Tommen Baratheon?”

Instinctively her hand went to the pommel of _Oathkeeper_. She forced herself to release it. She glanced at Podrick’s warm, sad eyes before looking down at the table.

She deflated. “I’m sworn to the North.”

He smiled. “So you’re against the pretenders, as is the Dragon Queen. We’d fight on the same side. Battle resolved.”

“Well, that’s settled,” Tristan broke in. “Good to know lasting peace is as easy as putting you two together. What next? You gonna get married and rule the world?”

Brienne, Griff and Podrick all stared at him in startled shock. Tristan calmly pulled Brienne’s discarded pie to his side and leaned closer to Podrick.

“It’s good Lady Brienne wants men though he’s almost too pretty to be a man. Maybe he should go both ways. That be a good trait for a king, won’t it? What do they call that? Aye, I know.” He grinned, showing off his mouthful of broken teeth. “Diplomacy.” 

 

Two days later, Brienne shaded her eyes with her hand and looked over the dry, dusty landscape. Patches of tall, stiff scrub grass grazed her legs as she sat straight in the saddle. She hadn’t seen a single living soul since leaving the company outpost at dawn. Now it was midday, with the sun high overhead, and the only change in the flat landscape was the gentle hill coming up in the distance.

“Do you think that’s where our guide is?” she asked aloud.

The horse, her only living companion, neighed in response. Brienne patted his neck and urged him forward. They rode at an easy pace and the hill loomed closer and closer. Suddenly the horse shivered and whinnied.

“What is it, boy?” she asked, stroking his neck to calm him. “Do you sense something?”

She raised herself in the saddle, looking for what could have alarmed the horse. Griff had warned her there were dangers in the Disputed Lands but she hadn’t encountered anything for hours.

_There_. The tall grass swayed in the distance. The day was hot and airless, with no breeze to move the stalks. Someone or something was out there. She saw another shiver in the scrub. She turned her head to the other side. The grass definitely shifted on that side, too. She quietly unsheathed _Oathkeeper_ , keeping the action low, hiding it in the grass brushing her legs.

The horse neighed again, louder this time and broke into a trot. He knew they were being stalked, too. The faster the horse went, the faster the grass moved around them. Whatever it was came closer with every passing breath. It had to be animals. No man could keep that pace, not while bent over and fighting the grass.

The hill ahead of them had no scrub grass to cover it. If they could make it to the top, she could at least see what was after them. She kicked gently into the horse’s side. The horse exploded into a headlong gallop. Brienne held desperately to the reins as she heard a roar that sent hot and cold waves of fear through her body.

A _lion’s_ roar. They were being hunted by a pack of lions. Suddenly one of the beasts leapt out of the brush. It was instinct, not logic, that caused her to slash at it with her sword. _Oathkeeper_ tore off the lion’s front right paw. It yelped and fell but not before scratching deep gashes into the horse’s side and Brienne’s lower leg. The horse screamed and ran faster. 

“Easy, boy!” Brienne grabbed the saddle horn with her rein hand, her sword held tight in her other hand, knowing nothing she said would get through to the terrified animal.

Another lion leapt at them. Brienne slashed again, tearing into its head, but the beast caught the horse’s neck, ripping another gash into it. The horse went down on his front haunches. Brienne leapt clear, rolling on the hard ground, _Oathkeeper_ still in her hand by force of sheer will. A shriek unlike any she’d ever heard before tore through the air. She held her sword out in front of her, turned in a circle, trying to hold off the immediate threat. 

The shriek came again, closer than before. A pride of lions exploded out of the brush but it didn’t attack her. Instead, they fled past her as though chased by an even more deadly predator. Again, instinct took over and Brienne ran, too, half limping as her torn leg threatened to collapse at every step. The only possible refuge was the hill ahead of her, higher ground. She’d just made it to open dirt, out of the brush, when a third shriek, so close it reverberated in the ground around her, drowned out the desperate sound of blood rushing in her ears.

She fell hard, her injured leg crumpled beneath her, _Oathkeeper_ tumbling out of her grasp. She looked up to the sky. An enormous dragon was streaking down towards her. No instinct could overcome the shock of seeing the terrifying beast. She froze.

The dragon released a stream of fire. The horse screamed. Brienne’s frozen horror broke as her arms came up to shield her face. It was stupid, the rational part of her mind noted, her arms were no protection against dragon fire. Panic overtook her rational mind. Adrenaline overrode the pain in her leg. She snatched up her sword and ran toward the only possible protection, the hill before her. 

She didn’t look back until the ground shook again, as though a great hand had hit against it. She stumbled down to the hard-packed dirt and looked back. The beast had landed. The dragon’s fire had roasted the horse and now it ripped through the burned flesh, devouring the poor animal. 

Brienne rolled over _Oathkeeper_ to hide the distinctive Valyrian steel that might appear a threat to the great beast, grateful for her dull clothes and pale coloring. Perhaps the dragon would miss her or find her too unappetizing for a meal. It took the beast only a moment to finish the horse. Then it spread out its wings, even greater than the length of four war horses, and leapt back into the sky. 

She didn’t move, even after the beast disappeared from sight. An unnatural silence fell on the land. Every creature, lions, insects and terrified warriors, remained silent and still. But they wouldn’t for long. She had no horse, no provisions and her lower leg bleed heavily. She has to find protection or she wouldn’t survive the night. 

“Move!” she directed her injured leg. 

Her words were not enough to overcome the damage but her will was enough to turn over, onto her knees. She sheathed _Oathkeeper_ and crawled slowly up the hill, rocks and dirt digging into her lame leg. Soon her hands and knees were bloody and raw. Pain burned up from her extremities, sweat dripped into her eyes, and her back ached from the unnatural position but she gritted her teeth and continued. She had no choice. The lions, and perhaps other predators, would come for her. 

About a third of the way up, she found an opening almost as tall as herself and twice as wide. It appeared to be a cave. Using _Oathkeeper_ as a crutch, she drove the tip into the dirt and hauled herself to her foot, her lame leg held off the ground. Her back protested as she tried to straighten herself. Blood rushed into her head then drained just as quickly, darkening her vision and causing stars to dance before her eyes. 

She fell forward into the opening. Her last thought before unconsciousness claimed her was to try to shift away from her sword. This could not be her fate; alone, defenseless, in a foreign land, dead by her own sword. 

She could not fail Catelyn Stark.

She could not fail destiny.


	7. Dream Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She tried to rise but her body was so weak the effort caused sweat to bead above her lip. She’d had fever dreams before but never as odd at this one, she realized with jarring clarity. Most fever dreams were short and disjointed. This one felt startlingly real. She could hear her blood pound in her ears, feel the prickle of dirt under her legs and even smell the acrid scent of smoke and burnt cloth.

### Chapter 7: Dream Keeper

Brienne dreamed of floating in Tarth’s sapphire blue waters. Her body felt heavy, lethargic, barely able to move. The dusk settled around her. She heard a mournful cry in the distance. A grey wolf was at the top of the cliffs. The twilight deepened as the moon and stars appeared, brighter than they had ever been before. The wolf howled to the moon. 

A snarl drew her attention to the beach below the cliffs. A lion prowled the sand, limping since its front right paw was missing. Jamie, it had to be Jamie. Brienne tried to swim towards it. Her body was a dead weight and her arms had no strength. She tried to kick out with her legs but they refused to obey her will.

The wolf next howl ended with a whimper. The moon was no longer visible. She stopped her attempts to reach the shore and stared at the point where the moon had been. Something shifted and the moon reappeared. Her heart beat faster. The dragon circled above, its enormous size hiding patches of the sky, its silhouette clear against the brightly shimmering stars. The wolf howled again, calm now that the moon had returned.

Brienne resumed swimming, desperate to reach the maimed lion. She couldn’t get closer to the shore, no matter how hard she stroked. She gasped and fought the waves, her body weakening with each breath.

“Ser Jamie!” she called but the lion didn’t hear her.

A shriek pierced the air. An eagle appeared out of the shadow of the dragon, its silver feathers brilliant in the moonlight, its wingspan enormous and its claws razor sharp. It was headed straight for the lion.

“Ser Jamie, look out!” She tried to scream a warning to the lion but it was too late. 

The eagle landed on the lion’s back, its claws digging in, drawing rivulets of blood from the maimed beast. The lion reared up on its back legs but the eagle’s grip was too strong. The lion roared as the eagle’s beak ripped into the its head. The lion shook its upper body, trying to dislodge the eagle. The lion’s blood covered the eagle, darkening the silver feathers until they shone almost blue in the moonlight. 

The wolf howled again then settled down on the clifftop to watch the death battle between the lion and the eagle. The lion collapsed, trying to roll the eagle off its back. But the eagle held on, digging deeper, until its claws disappears into the lion’s back. She tried again to swim to the shore but her body had lost all strength, weak and barely able to float. Brienne looked up at the circling dragon. 

“Help him!” she screamed. 

The dragon streaked down from the sky. But instead of going to the animals, it headed for her. She screamed again as the dragon’s fire hit her, her face burning from the pain.

Then it was the hot afternoon sun, not dragon fire, that burned her face. It was so bright she had to put up her arm to shade her eyes. Thunder rumbled in the distance. No, that couldn’t be right. How could the sun be so blindingly hot along with a thunderstorm?

She forced her eyes open. The imprint of _Oathkeeper_ was the first thing she saw, silhouetted in the perfect yellow circle of the sun. She crawled to it, her palms swollen and torn, her knees raw, her lame leg burning and oozing blood with every movement. The thunder grew louder. Another few agonizing efforts later, she was close enough to touch her sword. She looked past it to the parched, flat landscape. 

No, not thunder. _Riders_. A pack of at least two dozen riders on horseback thundered towards the hill. She leaned down to see the clear path of drag marks from her crawl up creating a direct line to the cave opening. She shifted and had to turn her head away when the glare off _Oathkeeper's_ blade stung her vision. She ducked back into the cave and stared in horror at her sword. The polished Valyrian steel shone in the late afternoon sun, a shining beacon to draw every slaver in the Disputed Lands.

She gritted her teeth and forced herself up to her knees. The dirt was soft but she’d embedded the sword deeply into the ground. Her poor positioning and weak leverage didn’t help. But she finally wrestled the sword free, breathing hard from the effort. She sheathed _Oathkeeper_ as the thunder of hoofs stopped. 

“Skoriot iksos se egros?” called one of the riders. 

Brienne recognized the word _egros_ , sword. They had seen her sword. 

“Nyke ūndegon nykeā vala!” another said. 

She didn’t know what that meant but she didn’t wait to find out. She began to crawl deeper into the cave. Her only hope was to go in so far in, the darkness would create shadows to hide herself. 

She heard the sound of rapid footsteps, of crumbling rock and excited calls. She crawled harder, refusing to accept she’d be caught soon. Then the cave opening was filled with men. Someone caught her lame leg and pulled. She grunted with pain as she fell flat onto her face, the pommel of her sword digging into her stomach. Someone grabbed her by her short hair and laughed. The others joined his laughter. The horses outside screamed. The men turned when a tremendous thud shook the ground. 

“Zaldrīzes!” someone shrieked. 

Grown men didn’t shriek, Brienne thought. There was only one thing terrible enough to make a man shriek as if he’d just seen a demon. Truly seeing a demon with blood-red eyes and fire in its mouth. Then the demon, the dragon, roared and the cave filled with fire. Brienne closed her eyes as the cleansing flames washed over her. The time seemed to go on and on, endlessly.

She kept her eyes closed until she could no longer feel the heat, no longer hear the screams of the terrified men. There was one final roar then a blissful silence. She opened her eyes and looked around. The men were gone. The walls and floor of the cave had turned a glistening black, as though the dragon’s fire had roasted the dirt. The late afternoon sun’s rays reflected against the shiny rock, making the tunnel unnaturally bright.

Grunting with the effort, she raised up on her hands and knees. Her skin pulled tight, hot and sore, as it did when she burned it after a day in the Tarth sun. While her skin hurt, she could no longer feel the pain in her damaged leg. She looked back to see the deep gouges were closed, no longer bleeding or burning. 

She also had no clothes. She stared, uncomprehending, at her naked leg and foot. Slowly she sat back with her legs underneath her, breathing heavily. Her skin pricked and protested, as if the dragon’s fire had burned away too many layers, leaving behind raw flesh. She raised her hands, palms up, to look at them. Like her leg, the torn skin had burned away, the blood and dirt gone. She brushed her shaking fingers against one knee. It was no longer bloody but still raw and sore.

She shifted and _Oathkeeper_ fell to the ground beside her. The Valyrian steel shone as brightly as ever. She picked it up by the pommel. Her hand was so weak she could only raise the end, the tip dragged in the dirt. The cloth strips Podrick had so carefully tied on to hide the distinctive design were still in place, as was a finger’s length of the leather sheath and a portion of the leather belt. The small pouch that held the _Golden Company_ token was also intact. 

A pile of fabric lay crumpled by her knees. She released the sword, letting it tumble to the dirt, to examine the bits of cloth. It was her shirt and breeches, burnt, charred remnants that had fallen off her body when she’d picked herself up from the floor.

An odd little chirpy sound came from within the cave, like a little bird but longer and deeper. She looked hard into the darkness where the unnaturally bright reflected light could not reach. Were there birds inside or something else? Birds that could resist dragon fire? 

She tried to rise but her body was so weak the effort caused sweat to bead above her lip. She’d had fever dreams before but never as odd at this one, she realized with jarring clarity. Most fever dreams were short and disjointed. This one felt startlingly real. She could hear her blood pound in her ears, feel the prickle of dirt under her legs and even smell the acrid scent of smoke and burnt cloth. 

“Who’s there?” she called.

Her voice sounded odd, as though she were hearing it from a great distance. Why was that? She was right here, beside herself. The chirping sound came again, closer and echoing, as though several birds were calling to her.

“Show yourself!” she ordered. 

The chirping came closer still, louder and higher pitched. Something moved in the shadows beyond the fading sun’s reach. She shifted from her knees to sitting on the ground, her back against the wall, her knees pulled tight against her body. She winced as she felt the rough dirt bite into her back, feet and buttocks. Why was her skin so sensitive in her dream? And why was she naked? She’d never dreamt of herself naked, didn’t give a thought to the wrongness of her body, too broad and strong to be a woman’s, since she had finally accepted she would never appeal to others.

Something hopped out of the darkness. She looked down and stared at the tiny creature. Vaguely, she was shocked by how _unshocked_ she was to see it. It looked like a miniature dragon, with small webbed wings, a head the size of a plum and tiny horns no bigger than her fingernail. It was…almost adorable. She leaned closer to look at it and another baby dragon appeared next to the first. Others joined the two who were staring at her with the same confused, wonderous expression she was sure was on her face, too.

Soon there were five little dragons gathered into a group, so close together they appeared to be leaning on each other. They were larger than kittens but smaller than fully-grown cats. Brienne smiled. Podrick would be happy to see them. He’d hoped for dragons no larger than cats. The little dragon-cats danced around her, flapping their transparent wings and coughing, unable to fly or breathe fire. That would also make Podrick happy. Tiny dragons, small enough to hold his arms, who didn’t fly and couldn’t breathe fire, were nothing to be afraid of.

The first dragon to appear, a dark brown with red markings on its webbing and spines, moved closer to her. Brienne slowly extended her hand. The little creature sniffed her fingers then hopped onto her palm, chirping loudly, its weight surprisingly solid for such a small thing. The rest of them moved as a pack. They all crowded around her, rubbing against her legs and sides. They felt shockingly warm, as though fire burned in them, even if they couldn’t breathe it out.

“Why are you here?” she asked the small creature sitting on her hand. “Are you my guide?”

The little creature nipped her fingertip. 

“Or am I to be your dinner?” 

The baby dragon flapped its wings and began to crawl up her arm. Its little claws were delicate pinpricks against her tender skin. Immediately another dragon, this one dark blue with light blue markings, took its place. The others hopped up, too, clawing up her legs, as though fighting to be as close to her as possible. She tried to shift away from them but her body was too weak to obey. Soon she had a baby on each shoulder and the other three sitting on her upraised knees. They all began chirping at once, as though trying to communicate with her.

“Is this my destiny?” she asked the small creatures. “Am I to be your first meal? Was this why the Gods of fire and water wanted me to come here?”

Slowly she wrapped her arms around her legs, giving the little creatures more room to settle against her. The baby dragons responded with more odd chirping and flapping of useless wings. Then they snuggled in, as if they couldn’t get close enough to her.

She stared at her little companions, nonplussed. “All of my life, I’ve been rejected because I didn’t match people’s ideas of how I should look and how I should behave. Perhaps I needn’t have bothered with the human world. I should have entered this cave and found all of you.”

A grey dragon with light blue markings nipped at her thumb. She used the same thumb to stroke the little creature. The dragon arched its long, serpentine neck, as though the act gave it pleasure. Brienne repeated the gesture and the dragon responded again.

“You remind me of my father,” Brienne said. “He also has grey hair and blue eyes. I have the same eyes. I’ve been told they’re my only redeeming feature.”

The dragon tilted its small head, as if listening to her. All the dragons were calm now, their heads resting against her, their small wings drooping. Her voice seems to soothe them so she continued.

“I don’t know how long we’ll be together. Sometimes my dreams repeat night after night and other times the same dream continues when I’m trying to solve a puzzle. We may meet again and again, little ones. I am Brienne of Tarth. What should I call you?”

The dragons didn’t answer. Not that she expected they would. The Gods wouldn’t have made it so easy as to send her dream guides who spoke the Common Tongue. Still, they watched her, as if they expected her to continue talking to them.

“Very well. Shall I name you all then?”

She tried to shift her aching arms but the three little ones flapped their wings and coughed at her. She sighed and left her arms as they were. She’d endure far greater discomfort in the real world. Dream dragons were nothing in comparison. The two on her shoulders stirred but didn’t shift from their comfortable places. The blue and grey dragon chirped quietly.

“Alright, you’re first,” Brienne agreed. “I’d like to name you after my father but he still lives, thank the Gods. Perhaps I should name you after my mother, Allyna?”

The dragon turned its little head away, as if in disdain.

“Is that too lady-like for you?” Brienne smiled and relaxed, safe in the rapidly darkening cave, protected by five tiny dream dragons. “I’m no lady, either. Very well. Then I shall name you after both my parents, Allyna and Selwyn of Tarth. Do you like the name Allwyn?”

The dragon – Allwyn – looked back at her and chirped agreeably. The dragon on her right shoulder nipped her ear, demanding attention.

“You wish to be next?” She tucked her neck briefly to cuddle the dragon. “You were the first to approach me. Brown with red markings, born to be a leader. I knew two such leaders and swore myself to them both. Your coloring matches King Renly and Lady Catelyn. Rencat? No, that’s too simple for one named after such honorable people. You shall be Catren.”

Catren flapped its wings and coughed before settling back against her neck. Brienne turned to look at her other shoulder. This dragon was a dark blue with the same pale blue markings as Allwyn. 

“You’re as blue as the waters of Tarth that took my brother. He never had the opportunity to be a great man. I’m sure he would have. He’d have been the heir my father deserved.” Even in this dream world, the ache of loss roughened her voice. “I hope you will achieve the greatness my brother was denied. His name was Galladon. I’ll call you Gallan.”

Gallan didn’t respond, other than to blink its small, red eyes at her. Brienne choose to believe the look was calm acceptance. Her arms were tiring so she put them down. Allwyn hopped down and snuggled against Brienne’s side, then closed its beady eyes and became still. Catren and Gallan also relaxed, tiny heads buried against her neck, ready for sleep. The two remaining dragons were still alert, sitting on her knees, watching Brienne.

“So, you will not rest until our task is complete, hmmm? You are both great knights who will not waiver from your duty? That’s good.” She first looked at the green dragon with deep orange markings. “I have a great warrior in my lineage. Ser Duncan the Tall was one of the most noble knights of his time. His sigil was a green tree with a shooting star on an orange crest, your colors. Shall we call you Duntal? No, that doesn’t match with the others. How about Serdun?”

As if he understood her, Serdun flapped his wings and laid down on Brienne’s other side. Only one dragon remained, alert and watchful. He was silver-grey with nearly white markings. 

“I’ve run out of distinguished members of my family.” Brienne stroked the little warrior with gentle fingers. The dragon arched its neck but did not waiver. “I do know of another great knight. Ser Jamie’s idol was Ser Arthur Dayne, the _Sword of the Morning_. He carried a magical sword called Dawn, which choose its own wielder. The sword is milky-white, like your markings. Will you be as strong and as steady as Arthur Dayne, Ardayn?”

The little dragon took proudly to its new name, standing tall and straight, refusing to succumb to sleep like the others. Brienne continued to stroke the small creature until she felt the heavy pull of sleep behind her own eyes.

“Will you remain on guard duty, Ardayn? Will you warn us if danger approaches?” Her voice sounded far-away again. She was fading from this world. “Good-bye, little one. I hope we meet again, in another time and another dream.”

Her last image before the darkness overtook her was of the tiny dragon, a miniature warrior from days long past, glowing in the last rays of the sun, casting a shadow so long it seemed it could reach back into history and touch the heroes of old.

 

Translations:

“Skoriot iksos se egros?” (Where is the sword?)

“Nyke ūndegon nykeā vala!” (I saw a man!)

“Zaldrīzes!” (Dragon!)


	8. Dragon Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Very few men, who go into the Disputed Lands alone, come back alive. None, before you, have come back dressed in their enemy’s blood-soaked clothes and bearing the spoils of war.”

###  Chapter 8: Dragon Keeper 

Incessant chirping and sharp pin-pricks along her side brought Brienne out of a dark, dreamless sleep. She tried to brush the annoyance away but it continued, now along her back and buttocks. Something nipped her ear and her eyes flew open. Her mind could not process what she saw and she just stared for a few seconds. Then she shrieked and tried to recoil, but her body was still too weak and sluggish in respond properly.

Still, her scream set off a chain reaction. The dragons began coughing and chirping loudly, flapping their useless wings. Dear Gods, they were _real_? She hadn’t dreamt them? She looked around wildly, trying to get her bearings. She was laid out on the cave floor, still naked and still surrounded by five small, non-dream dragons.

They stopped flapping and coughing, calming now that she was no longer shrieking. The grey and white dragon perched on her shoulder – Ardayn – clamped her ear again, pulling on it. She turned her head to the cave opening and saw the daylight. And she heard what her little guard dragon had tried to warn her about. The thunder of horse’s hoofs.

She leaned against the cave wall for leverage and forced her legs to bear her weight. Again, using _Oathkeeper_ as a crutch, she pulled herself half upright to stagger to the mouth of the cave. She wasn’t in pain as she had been yesterday but the blood loss left her weak and dizzy. Still, she didn’t need her full mental facilities to know they were in trouble. The number of riders was double the group that had come last afternoon.

The riders hobbled their horses further back, away from the scorched ground that evidenced the dragon’s attack. Like most Tyroshi, they wore loud colors in their clothes and hair. There were at least forty men converging on the hill, each pulling out swords or curved blades as they marched across the burnt ground. Brienne stumbled back, her naked body sweaty and shaky with fear and fatigue.

The dragons gathered around her, chattering anxiously, rubbing against her as if seeking comfort. _Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor_. She remembered Griff saying a dragon was not meant to be a slave. These dragons were tiny, helpless, unable to defend themselves. They would become slaves and worse if those men got them. They’d be fought over, sold to the highest bidders and used as devastating weapons to wage terrifying wars.

She was their only defense. Her heart beat faster and her head began to clear. Her sword hand steadied as adrenaline pumped into her veins. She wouldn’t be able to defend the dragons for long but she would do her best. If her destiny was to be their champion, she would fight for them with every breath left in her body.

Surprise was on her side. The first man in had only opened his mouth when she slashed his throat. The second managed a startled grunt before he, too, was silenced. The third man stood behind his fallen companions, eyes round, face blank with shock. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t a towering, pale-skinned, naked blonde woman. His shock cost him as Brienne thrust _Oathkeeper_ through his chest.

Then she heard it, the big dragon’s shriek. It was coming. She only needed to hold out a little while longer. The little dragons behind her began chirping again, jumping around and flapping their wings, creating their own commotion.

“Zaldrīzes!” Someone cried out as men and horses began to scream.

The dragon roared again, so close the sound reverberated around them. The cave began to heat as the dragon released fire above them. The stench of burning flesh rose into the cave but no other men. Terrified screams echoed on the walls around her. Brienne released _Oathkeeper,_ still in the dead man’s chest, to turn back to the little dragons. She dropped to her knees and gathered them close, using her body to shield them from attack. They seemed to understand her urgency, their small, hot bodies shivering as the sounds of the dead and dying rose over the screech of the big dragon. 

A tremendous thud shook the ground. The dragon must have landed. She waited several minutes but the screams continued. What was the dragon doing? Brienne pulled Oathkeeper out of the slaver’s chest and crept to the cave opening, her sword dripping blood in the brightening morning light. The same ground had been charred again but many horses, hobbled further away from the burn site, were still alive and seemed unharmed. They were still hysterical, pawing at the ground and trying to pull free.

The dragon prowled the ground below her before raising its head to look to the cave opening. Instinctively, Brienne held her sword up in to block an attack, before realizing the foolishness of her action. The Valyrian steel had survived dragon fire but it was no defense against a dragon. She knelt down and laid the sword on the charred cave floor.

The small dragons came up to the opening, chattering excitedly. The big dragon came closer. She retreated deeper into the cave. The small dragons waddled around Brienne, staying at her side.

“Go,” she ordered, looking down at them. “You’re supposed to go with the big dragon.”

The little dragons didn’t agree. They stayed close to her, chirping away. The big dragon didn’t agree, either.  It roared again and leapt up into the sky.

“Wait!” Brienne called. “You can’t leave without them! Who will care for them?”

She watched the dragon grow smaller and smaller in the sky. She looked around at the parched and burnt landscape. Silence settled over the land. The horses had exhausted themselves from screaming and fear and began to calm. It was up to her. She would have to protect them and keep them safe from the slavers who’d come for them. She stripped the dead bodies of their garish clothes, flat boots, coins, sword belts and, mercifully, their water skins.

The little dragons crowded close as she guzzled down water. She realized they were thirsty and probably hungry, too. She poured water into her cupped palm and held it out. Catren, the born leader, came to her first. Its tiny tongue tickled the still raw skin of her palm. Brienne poured water and offered it until each dragon had its fill. They were already starting to show distinct personalities. Catren led with Allwyn as its second, ready to step up as needed. Gallan calmly waited its turn while Serdun and Ardayn stayed back, alert and watchful. They didn’t come forward until the others moved away.

Five small dragons, a form of magic recently returned after hundreds of years, had entered the world they would one day rule. But only if they were able to grow without harm. They would be nearly invincible once they were bigger, _if_ they became bigger and were able to fly and breathe fire. But that day was not today. How many years would it be before these little creatures became the same deadly menace the big dragons were already? The three large dragons had created a wave of destruction for the Dragon Queen. Would these dragons join with them or battle against them?

Why had the Gods decided to make her their keeper for the most powerful form of magic ever known? How would she keep them safe? Rumors of the large dragons has been dismissed, had been thought to be lies created to enhance the Dragon Queen, until she’d used them to take over Slaver’s Bay and command two powerful armies. Now, everyone would hunt down these small kingmakers, if the world was to learn of their existence. Where could she keep them safe? How could she hide them until they were able to defend themselves? Could they be taught to be kind and honorable, like the people they were named after?

These were questions for another time, when the need to protect them didn’t press so heavily on her. Now, she had to get the five to safety.

“We’re leaving,” she announced. “We can’t stay in this cave. We need food, shelter and an army to protect you. Luckily, we have horses, coin and swords to trade.”

The five watched her with tilted heads while she dressed herself in the dead men’s clothes and boots, choosing the red shirt and bright blue breeches of the biggest man. They hid the blood stains best. She winced at the feel of the sticky silk against her still-raw skin. She gathered up their swords and used the rags from her burnt clothes to clean _Oathkeeper_. She sheathed it in the man’s sword belt and picked up the pouch with the _Golden Company’s_ token.

“We may even have an army,” she noted. “If I can sway them to our cause.”

The five may not have understood the Common Tongue but they knew they were leaving. They rushed to climb up her body. Serdun and Ardayn, her guards, settled on her shoulders. Catren nipped Brienne’s fingers to remind her to cradle her arms. Catren settled in the center with Allwyn on the right and Gallan on the left, ready to set forth into their great adventure.

She had to keep them safe. It was her destiny.

 

 

Two days later, Brienne went back to the same inn where she and Podrick had their last dinner. The innkeeper sniffed then curled his lip at the stench coming from the roughly stitched leather pack she’d strapped to her chest. She turned to try to shift the pack further away but didn’t dare put it down. The five were only quiet when they were close to her.

She’d filled the rough pack with burnt horse meat from the dead animals in front of the cave. It has only taken a moment to learn what baby dragons ate. Catren and Allwyn had jumped out of her arms when they’d reached the ground. They’d immediately begun feasting on a dead horse. Gallan had waited until they chirped to join them. Serdun and Ardayn hadn’t joined them, still stubbornly on guard duty, until she’d put them down beside the others.

A moment later, she was back on the street, following the man’s directions. The finely dressed merchants looked at her in nose-wrinkled disgust, making room for her to pass, not wanting the foul-smelling foreigner to touch them. She ignored them and marched on, until she found the golden door. It opened before she could shift her burden to knock.

“Brienne, what happened to you?” Griff demanded. He wrinkled his nose and stepped back. “What is that smell?”

“Horse meat,” Brienne explained.

She marched into the office. It was small, with only a table and chairs in the room. The walls had been painted gold but otherwise showed no markings, as was common for the _Golden Company_. Tristan came in from another door and Brienne glimpsed more gold paint in the next room, too.

“Aye, welcome, Brienne. I hear tales of you killing an entire company of slavers and bringing back their horses for trade,” Tristan said.

“How did you hear about the horses?” Brienne demanded.

Griff snorted. “We were sent a raven as soon as you appeared at our last outpost. The dragon had been seen several times while you were gone. We were worried you wouldn’t make it back.”

“Worried?” Brienne repeated. “You were worried about me?”

“Nah, I knew you’d be okay.” Tristan grinned. “Griff was worried. He cursed you for being so stubborn and refusing to take a guide or an army.”

She stared at Griff. “Why would you worry about me?”

He flushed, making his already beautiful face glow. “Very few men, who go into the Disputed Lands alone, come back alive. None, before _you_ , have come back dressed in their enemy’s blood-soaked clothes and bearing the spoils of war.”

“I couldn’t leave the horses behind,” she mumbled. “They would have died if I’d left them out there.”

“Why do you have horse meat?” Griff asked.

“I burned the bodies of the dead.” She could feel herself flush from the lie. “I took the meat so I wouldn’t starve on the way back.”

“Liar,” Griff said quietly. “You’ve spent the last two days moving from one company post to the next. They gave you food and shelter. You’re hiding something else in there. What is it?”

She ignored his question. “I need help. I need to leave Tyrosh immediately. I’m not safe here.”

“By the count of horses you brought back, you killed at least a score of slavers,” Tristan said. “I think they’re the ones not safe.”

Brienne stared at him. “Will you help me or not?”

Griff looked at the pack in her arms. Brienne hugged it tighter and shifted closer to the door. It would be awkward to unsheathe _Oathkeeper_ while holding her burden. But she’d fight if they tried to take her pack by force.

Griff didn’t reach for her. Instead he leaned back against the table. “Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere.”

He exchanged looks with Tristan. “When do you want to leave?”

“Now.”

Again, the men exchanged looks. Brienne waited, tense and ready to run, if needed. Finally, Griff nodded.

“Tristan and I are preparing a team to Volantis. We plan to leave in four days. You can come with us,” he offered.

She shook her head. “I can’t stay here that long. An attack can come from too many directions. I have to be on the water, away from people, where I can see the enemy coming.”

“Who’s coming for you, Brienne?” Tristan asked. “We’re the _Golden Company_. No one attacks us and lives to tell the tale.”

An image of the bloodthirsty slavers rose in her mind. They would stop at nothing to get the five.  Tyrosh was a busy city full of people. A battle between the _Golden Company_ and slavers would soak the streets in blood. She couldn’t risk the lives of thousands to protect five.

Brienne left without a word, heading towards the docks. She’d steal a boat if she had to. She’d been on boats all her life and knew how to sail alone. She walked swiftly, leaving the clean and well-organized city proper for the gradual decay and harsher life closer to the docks. A horrible, foul stench filled the air. She stopped and sniffed the pack. It wasn’t the horse meat. A quick peek under the flap showed the five asleep. She shut the flap, before the light woke them.

Chanting rose up behind her and a wave of thin, underfed people dressed in dirty rags marched past her. Her mouth dropped open in revolted horror when she placed the stench. Three bodies, still burning, were on a plank held by the slaves, the bodies arranged around a bright red rock etched with a fish scale design. The bodies were so small they had to be babies. Worse the bodies were still moving. _They were burning babies alive_.

She had to breathe out of her mouth to keep from retching. She backed away from the horror, the pack held tight in her arms. What kind of monsters burned living babies?

Hands caught both her arms. She twisted but Griff spoke before she could pull away.

“Easy, it’s us,” he said. “We have a plan to help you.”

He and Tristan guided her back to the _Golden Company_ office. They went into the second room, bigger but windowless and as sparsely furnished as the front, and barred the door. Brienne shook her head, as if trying to shake the horrible image from her memory.

“They burned those babies alive,” she gasped.  “How could they do that?”

“They’re trying to birth dragons,” Griff explained, his face set and grim.

“That was a dragon egg?” Her arms tightened around her pack protectively. “People are killing babies to hatch them?”

Tristan snorted. “Who can tell the difference between a dragon egg and well-formed rock? The rumor is the Dragon Queen birthed dragons on her husband’s funeral pyre by sacrificing an old witch to the pyre flames.”

“Now people buy worthless rocks chipped to look like dragon eggs. They sacrifice anyone from priests to witches, new babes to the oldest to try to birth dragons,” Griff finished.

“No one stops them?” Brienne demanded.

“What’s the value of human life against the unlimited power of having a dragon?” Griff asked.

She looked at him in mounting horror. “You believe that?”

Griff looked disgusted. “No, I don’t believe that. These are poor people, slaves and beggars all their lives. They want to believe in something, to find a reason for their suffering. They accept the horrors of gods like R’hllor, to give meaning to their misery.”

“Even the rich believe it,” Tristan pointed out. “Slaver’s Bay is filled with ships from every part of the known world, all desperate to marry the Dragon Queen.”

“They haven’t suddenly fallen for her great beauty or skilled diplomacy,” Griff added. “She has the most powerful weapons known to man. No one can stand against her if she turns her dragons on them.”

Brienne caught her breath. “What would you do if you had dragons? Would you use them in battle?”

Griff hesitated. “Dragons can’t be made into slaves. They’re too strong and intelligent to be broken. They would only go into battle if they wanted to. If they did, nothing could stop them but another dragon.”

“Turn brother against brother,” she said quietly.

“All three of the Dragon Queen’s dragons are loyal to her,” Tristan said. “What would cause them to turn against each other or her, for that matter?”

“What about all these possible new dragons? Many, many people are trying to birth them, by whatever horrible means they can,” she pointed out.

“Thousands of people have tried, thousands have died. The last known dragon eggs are over three hundred years old. Kings have been trying to hatch them since the dragons’ extinction.” Griff shook his head. “These so-called dragon eggs are tricks created by smart men to swindle stupid men.”

“Not all of them,” Brienne said quietly. “The Dragon Queen hatched three of them. Perhaps the eggs are real but those who try to hatch them are false?”

How was it decided which men were true and which men were false? Griff had said he wanted to change the world, to lead a revolution. Those were only words. Why would anyone follow a man with no history, family or claims to power? He could command a company of paid fighters but that wasn’t enough to create a new world order. Would he protect the dragons or try to use them to build his own ambitious future?

Who could properly bear the awesome responsibility of raising dragons? More importantly, could she?


	9. Secret Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’d faced situations worse than this and survived. Then, she’d done so with a sword. Now she needed to fight, to win, with only her words. Her destiny, and the destiny of five small kingmakers, hung in the balance.

### Chapter 9: Secret Keeper

Brienne, Griff and Tristan stared at each other in the inner, windowless room of the _Golden Company’s_ office. A heavy silence descended over them. Then a soft chirp broke the silence.

Griff frowned. “What was that noise?”

Brienne stiffened. She’d been so focused on the possible creation of an army of dragons she’d momentarily forgotten about the five. She tightened her arms around the pack but it was no use. The chirping of one seemed to have awakened the others. 

“It sounds like birds.” Tristan stared at the pack Brienne held in a death grip. “You went in the Disputed Lands _alone_ to gather birds? You killed slavers for birds?”

The chirps became louder. She rubbed the pack but knew it was only a matter of minutes before the five demanded release. 

“You said you had a plan,” she reminded them, raising her voice in a futile effort to drown out the chirps. “What is it?”

“We’ll take you in secret to a house here in Tyrosh,” Griff stepped closer to her. “You’ll be safe there until we can smuggle you onto the ship. Your enemies won’t know where you are or when you left Tyrosh.”

The chirps became plentiful as all five woke and began to call to her. Why were they so fretful? They’d reminded quiet, mostly sleeping, the nights they’d spent at the company outposts. It was almost as if hearing Griff and Tristan’s voices had excited the five. Brienne shifted, trying to put distance between herself and the men. 

Griff and Tristan exchanged glances. Tristan went to stand at the door, the only way out. She remembered the first time she’d met the almost seven-foot tall man. He’d pulled his punches, not wanting to hurt a woman, had maintained his self-control even during the pressure of a fight. A man without lands or titles, but with more natural nobility than most lords or knights.

“You tried not to hurt me when we fought,” she reminded him. “Would you sacrifice people for the chance to have a dragon? Would you kill children?”

“What?” Tristan stared at her. “I don’t hurt babies!”

“Would you?” she pressed, the pack now wiggling visibly, the chirps louder and insistent. 

“No. I fight for my company and my men. I don’t go after women or children.” Tristan glared at her with his mouth pressed into a flat line. 

Griff came even closer, looking at the moving pack. “Brienne, you don’t have a baby in there, do you?” 

“Yes, five of them.” 

Griff and Tristan stared at her open-mouthed. Tears pricked her eyes but she blinked them back determinedly. She’d faced situations worse than this and survived. Then, she’d done so with a sword. Now she needed to fight, to win, with only her words. Her destiny, and the destiny of five small kingmakers, hung in the balance. 

Her voice hardened. “Babies who didn’t choose to be born, who I am honor-bound to protect. I will not allow them to become pawns in the games of men.”

“Baby birds?” Tristan gestured to the pack. “What have you got in there? Ravens?”

A tail slid out between the pack’s rough seams. Tristan jerked back while Griff froze. They both transferred their stares to the wiggling pack. 

“Brienne, what do you have in there?” Griff asked, his voice low and ominous.

The dragons began to move vigorously, as though responding to his voice. Their chirps became louder. More tails and nearly transparent wings poked out of the seams. It was no use trying to hide them now. They’d hurt themselves if she didn’t release them. Brienne unstrapped the pack and placed it on the table. Wordlessly, she unfastened the laces and turned back the flap.

Ardayn and Serdun came out first, assessing the threat. Swiftly, they raced up Brienne’s arms to perch on her shoulders. Catren and Allwyn come out together, turning to face the men, Allwyn slightly behind and to the right of Catren. Gallan came out last. It stared up at Griff until Griff stumbled into a chair at the table, their gazed locked the entire time. Griff blinked first. Only then did Gallan take his place ahead and left of Catren.

“You birthed dragons.” Tristan’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t birth them,” Brienne corrected. “I found them.”

“Are you sure?” Tristan carefully, quietly pulled out a chair and sunk into it slowly. “They’re protecting you like you’re their mother.”

Brienne looked down, startled. Gallan, Catren and Allwyn had formed a defensive line between her and the men while Serdun and Ardayn stood ready on her shoulders, as though waiting for a command to fight for her. The wave of tenderness that washed through her made Brienne’s knees weak. She sat down in the chair beside Griff.

“They don’t know they’re defenseless.” Her voice was rough and heavy, emotions clogging her throat. Her gaze hardened. “Do we need to be protected from you?”

The men exchanged wordless glances before shaking their heads simultaneously. 

“What do you mean they’re defenseless?” Griff asked. “They’re dragons.”

“ _Baby_ dragons. They can’t fly or breathe fire.” Brienne put her arm out to sweep Gallan, Catren and Allwyn closer. 

“Why not?” Tristan demanded. 

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Will they eventually?” he persisted. “How old are they?”

“I don’t know,” she repeated. “I’m not an expert on dragons.”

“Yet, here you are, the mother of five dragons,” Griff said quietly.

“I’m not their mother, I’m their keeper,” she insisted. “The big dragon is their mother. She led me to them.”

“It,” Griff said.

“What?” Now it was Brienne’s turn to stare.

“You called the big dragon ‘she’ but that’s not right,” Griff explained. “Dragons are genderless. That’s why the High Valyrian language is also genderless.”

Tristan snorted. “He likes to read. Boring sod, most the time.”

The dragons all began to chirp and preen, demanding attention. Serdun and Ardayn came down to join the others on the table. They surveyed the room, apparently having determined Griff and Tristan were not a threat to Brienne.

“It’s good that one of us knows something about dragons. I know nothing.” Brienne gently stroked Ardayn’s long neck. The grey and white dragon rubbed its head against her hand. “I hadn’t even seen a dragon until the big dragon attacked.”

“What? When?” Griff leaned towards her but stopped abruptly when Gallan and Serdun chirped at him. He sat back.

“You saw the big dragon?” Tristan asked, safely further down the table. “It attacked you? While you were in the Disputed Lands?”

“Yes, no, yes.” Brienne reached out to rub Gallan and Serdun’s heads. “I saw it but it didn’t attack me.”

Ardayn walked down to Tristan. Brienne held her breath as Tristan put his hands on the table, palms up, to the small dragon. Ardayn sniffed his fingers and stared up at the large man. Tristan bent down until he and dragon were at eye level. Ardayn tilted its head, flapped its wings and settled onto Tristan’s palm.

“Aye, it likes me!” Tristan flushed with pride.

Griff gave him a withering glare. “It must be the fish you had for lunch. It’s probably tired of horse meat.”

“At least it’s friendly to me,” Tristan shot back. “Those two want to gouge your eyes out.”

Startled, Griff looked back at the table. Gallan and Serdun were indeed standing between Griff and Brienne, hissing and flapping their wings to puff out their little bodies.

“Why are they doing that?” Griff demanded.

“Maybe they don’t like prettier competition?” Tristan suggested with a smirk.

“Put out your hand and let them learn your scent,” Brienne urged. “Then they’ll know you’re not a threat.”

Griff slowly put his hand forward, palm up. Gallan and Serdun remained aloof, staying close to Brienne, but Catren and Allwyn went to him. They sniffed his fingertips then chirped excitedly between themselves. 

“How did you find the dragons, Brienne?” Griff directed the question to her but kept his gaze on Catren and Allwyn. 

It was fortunate Griff and Tristan were focused on the dragons. It gave Brienne time to formulate her answers. There was so much she didn’t understand herself. She thought of Podrick, now safely with her father on Tarth. He’d have listened to her and helped her talk through what to do and what to say. Now she was on her own, using a tool she had so little practice and almost no mastery; words had never served her well. 

“I found a hill in the flat land with burn marks. I thought that meant the dragon had been there so I went to investigate. The dragons were in the cave carved into the hill.”

“Were they any unhatched eggs in the cave?” Griff asked quietly as he turned his hands slowly, carefully stroking the dragons’ necks as Brienne had done with Ardayn. Catren and Allwyn stopped chirping and rubbed their small faces against Griff’s thumbs, as though to encourage him to continue the attention. 

“I didn’t look for eggs,” Brienne admitted. “I hadn’t recovered from the shock of finding these five when we were attacked by the slavers.”

“How did you fight them off?” Tristan slowly straightened, keeping both hands on the table, while Ardayn watched him with bright, alert eyes.

It amused her, how these skilled fighters moved so slowly and carefully, as would any intelligent man be when facing a powerful, deadly foe. Brienne was tempted to remind them the dragons couldn’t fly or burn them. She didn’t. The instinctive fear the dragons engendered was currently their only defense.

Other than her. She would defend them to the death. It was her destiny.

“I didn’t. The dragon did.” 

That finally got Griff and Tristan to look at her. 

“That dragon was there?” Griff asked.

“It _helped_ you?” Tristan asked.

Brienne nodded. “I’d killed three slavers but faced at least two scores more. I was in the cave so I only had to fight one at a time. The dragon’s fire burned the men outside.”

“Wait.” Griff looked up and down the table, at the five. “The dragon _knows_ you have its babies?” 

“Yes.” Brienne brought Gallan and Serdun close to her body. She didn’t stroke them, knowing they took their guard duty seriously, but rested her hands gently on them. “The dragon guarded us until we reached your last outpost.”

“The outpost reported dragon sightings, not that the dragon was at the outpost.” Tristan now also stroked Ardayn, using a single enormous finger.

“I couldn’t see the dragon but nothing came near us,” Brienne explained. “No wild animals, no birds, not even insects. Then, once we came near the outpost, I heard the buzzing of insects and the chirping of birds. Animals can sense danger sooner than humans and knew to stay away from us. The men at the outpost were calming their horses when I arrived.”

Griff stopped stroking to consider her words. “The dragon knows you have its babies, protected you when they were in danger and guided you back to safety.”

“Yes.” Brienne met his gaze. “If anything were to happen to these five, the dragon would know. It will burn Tyrosh to the ground if they were in danger. Now do you understand why I have to keep them away from innocent people?”

Griff stared at her, the color draining from his face. Allwyn nipped his finger, making him jump and put his hands up in the air. Allwyn and Catren chirped loudly then rushed him, pressing into his chest. 

Griff’s eyes widened as he wrapped his arm around them, holding them close. “They’re so warm. It’s like holding an ember.”

“Good thing they’re not female.” Tristan noted dryly. “We have enough trouble with women throwing themselves at you. Imagine how much worse it would be if these little things started fighting over you, too.”

Brienne ignored their inane chatter. “They’re babies. They need to be stroked and held.”

“Held?” Tristan repeated. “That’s why the dragon came to our training pit? Not because we’re the best fighting force in Essos? It wants us to be bloody nursemaids?”

Brienne stared at him. “When did the dragon visit your training pit?” 

Tristan flushed dull red and looked back at Ardayn. “In Braavos.”

“What?” Brienne picked up Gallan and Serdun, holding them closer. “You said it was seen over Braavos, not that you had contact with it. What else are you hiding from me?” She glared at Griff. “Give me back my dragons.”

Griff didn’t move. Neither did Catren and Allwyn, who had snuggled in, their heads and wings drooping. 

“Don’t be angry.” Griff kept his voice low and calm. “We weren’t hiding it from you. We barely knew you at the time. We didn’t know it was safe to tell you what really happened.”

“So, tell me now,” she ordered. 

She put Gallan and Serdun back down. They walked closer to Griff, as if they were also eager to hear his tale. Griff tried to put his arm down but Catren and Allwyn began to chirp and squawk. Brienne stared at them.

“That’s a new sound,” she noted. “I’ve only heard them chirp in the time I’ve had them. This is the first time they’ve squawked.”

“Women always complain when Griff pushes them away.” Tristan grinned. “Why would dragons be any different?”

Griff glared at Tristan but Brienne was not deterred.

“Tell me about the dragon’s visit,” she ordered again.

“The time it came to Braavos, it landed in our fighting pit.” Griff admitted. 

“Why? What did it do?”

“Nothing.” Griff shrugged, careful not to dislodge the dragons. “It just watched us.”

Brienne scowled. “Watched you do what?”

“At first, nothing.” Tristan had gone back to stroking Ardayn with a single finger. “We froze, scared stiff while our balls crawled back into our bodies. Then the pretty boy here stepped up, maybe hoping to dazzle the dragon with his fine looks.”

“Shut up about my looks. I don’t go on about your ugly mug.” Griff muttered.

“My looks have never gotten us into a tavern brawl.” Tristan began to rise but stopped when Ardayn flapped and chirped. The dragon looked tiny in his large hand. 

“Your looks are _from_ a tavern brawl,” Griff hissed back, careful not to disturb the two small dragons nestled in his arms. 

“Stop trying to distract me,” Brienne ordered. “Tell me what happened.”

“We went back to practice.” Griff held out his free hand to Gallan and Serdun. This time they deigned to sniff his fingers before going back to their guard duty.

“The dragon stayed for hours, just watching us.” Tristan continued. “It didn’t burn us or attack us. It just watched our drills.”

“That’s why we thought the dragon was a scout for the Dragon Queen.” Griff explained. “We were sure she’d sent it to determine if we’d be good allies for her. Now we know the dragon wanted us to protect these little ones.”

“Do you think the Dragon Queen knows about these dragons?” Brienne frowned. 

Griff considered it. “I don’t think so. There’s no way she would trust strangers with her dragons, especially new, helpless dragons that can be stolen by anyone.”

Brienne stared at the five. “Does that mean the dragon is acting independently of its queen? Is it hiding its babies?”

“The Dragon Queen has been having trouble holding the slave cities. Maybe the dragon knew it was best to keep the babies away from Slaver’s Bay,” Griff suggested.

Brienne thought about that. Why had the dragon hatched its eggs so far from the Dragon Queen? Were the eggs already in the Disputed Lands, forcing the dragon to go to the eggs? Or had the dragon decided to keep these eggs away? Were dragons controlled by destiny the same way men were? Did the Gods guide the dragon as they guided her? Was that why her destiny intertwined with a dragon’s?

“I don’t understand why I’m the one who had to find them.” Her voice pitched higher. “I don’t know how to take care of a human child. How will I care for dragons?” 

For the first time, she felt the weight of the responsibility she’d been given. Her back stiffened and her shoulders drooped. A knight took commands and carried them out faithfully, without doubt or complaint, trusting his king to do what was best for his people. A good knight trusted his king but had any been required to carry out the commands of Gods or dragons? 

“You’ve had them for four days now and they’re still alive and well,” Griff pointed out. “You defended them from slavers, fed them, kept them secret, brought them safely back to Tyrosh and engaged an army to protect them. I think you’re doing a fine job.”

Brienne stared at him, pink-cheeked and open mouthed. Praise was not something she took well. She hadn’t had heard much of it in her life. _Engaged an army_ . The weight on her shoulders lessened. The _Golden Company_ would protect the dragons. They would stand with her. 

Careful of the dragons he held, Griff leaned closer and covered her hand with his. “Brienne, you’re not alone anymore. We’ll protect you and them. Tell us what happened. Why did you go into the Disputed Lands?” 

She stared down at their hands. His hand was as big as hers, but while her fingers were blunt and square, his were lean and elegant. There was no justice in the world. Even his hands were beautiful. 

“The Gods and the dragon wanted it,” she answered honestly.

The prolonged silence made her look up. They – men and dragons – were all looking at her.

Brienne blinked and her blush deepened. She pulled her hand free. “I met a saltwater priest in Braavos. He directed me to Tyrosh. I met a red priestess here. She directed me to the Disputed Lands. Then the dragon protected me while I retrieved its babies.” 

“Followers of the Gods of water and fire directed you to the dragon?” Griff repeated carefully, as if he was unsure of what he’d heard.

She nodded. “Yes.”

Griff turned to look at Tristan. 

“The Gods directed Brienne to dragons.” There was an odd inflection in his voice, a heaviness that hinted at greater weight than just mere words.

“It’s true,” Brienne insisted. “The dragons are right here. I’m not lying to you.”

Griff turned back to her, a sudden fire lighting in his dark blue eyes. Something in his expression sent prickles down her spine. She straightened in her seat. Even the dragons seemed to pick up on it, alert and watchful, suddenly silent. Something shimmered in the air around them, like heat rising from burning sand. 

“I know,” Griff agreed, his voice still odd and heavy. “Man cannot understand the will of the Gods. He can only have faith and follow the path they lay before him.”

Brienne stared at him, uncomprehending. The intensity in his eyes unnerved her. He was looking at her but seeing something inside his own mind. His arm went lax, disturbing Allwyn and Catren. They squawked and the moment was broken. Griff blinked, as if coming back into himself and looked around. 

Tristan snorted. “Oye, you gonna give us one of your ‘great duty’ talks again? I don’t think the dragons are old enough to understand.”

Ardayn nipped his finger. Tristan cupped his hands and carefully raised Ardayn to eye level. The dragon stared back at him with bright black eyes. It chirped and flapped its wings, as if trying to communicate. Tristan nodded, as if he understood the little dragon.

“Huh, I don’t understand them, either.” Tristan grinned at Griff. “He and I are already tired of your sermons. They’re too little for duty. How old do you think they are?”

“I think they hatched shortly before Brienne found them. They’re too small to go long without food and water.” Griff looked down at the dragons he held, his voice no longer odd, now back to being the skilled commander. “Judging from their size and transparent wings, they can’t be more than a few days old. After we hide Brienne and the dragons, I’ll go to the Temple of Trios. It’s said to have records from Valyria there. If not, there should be some books about the Targaryen kings and their dragons.”

“This is why we have trouble in the taverns,” Tristan grumbled. “You’re too busy reading and planning to have a good time. What’s the good in conquering the world if you’re not going to enjoy it?” 

Griff didn’t bother to glare at the big man. His focus was back on the dragons. He looked from one to the other, the odd fire back in his eyes. Brienne felt the prickle along her spine again. Ardayn, Gallan and Serdun went to Griff, as if drawn to his fire. Even Catren and Allwyn left the warmth of his body to stand with the others, all five watching the _Golden Company_ officer. 

Griff tilted his head to the side. The dragons mimicked him, tilting their tiny heads. He smiled, a beautiful, wide, satisfied smile. The prickles tickling Brienne’s spine suddenly felt like the hot slices of a dagger. The hair on the back of her neck rose, a memory teasing at edge of her mind. She had seen that smile before, on another man.

But who and where?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, the show really was unfair to the Lady of Tarth in episode 8.04, wasn't it? Not to worry - that won't happened in this story. Our Lady Brienne will come out the ultimate winner, as such an honorable woman should.


	10. Bloodlust Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anxiety and anticipation soured the air around them but no one wavered, gazes fixed and muscles locked, ready for whatever might come their way. Brienne could hear her blood pound in her ears as they waited, as still as possible on the gently rocking ship, ears strained for any sounds of impending attack.

### Chapter 10: Bloodlust Keeper

One month later…

Brienne stood at the _Sea Keeper’s_ bow, scanning the unending blue sea around them. No matter how far they sailed or how long since they’d last seen another ship, it was never enough. Unease often tightened her spine or woke her from sleep, made her look around anxiously, to confirm the dragons were still with her, safe and healthy.

Griff came to join her. “Your watch ended an hour ago, Brienne. Relax.”

“I can’t relax.” Her gaze shifted from the water to the rapidly darkening sky. “I worry about them every moment of the day.”

“You’re taking too much stress on yourself.” Griff patted her back, right where the stress settled between her shoulders.

“Food is here!” Tristan came up the steps with a large metal bowl and a plate piled high with fresh fish. 

Squawks and high-pitched screeches greeted him. Brienne turned to look up at the dragons who were sitting on the mast pole ropes. They hadn’t mastered flying yet but they could glide, now that their wings had gotten stronger and become nearly translucent. Gallan walked to the end of the pole and flapped his wings, indicating the jump. 

Brienne couldn’t control the instinct to run below to catch the dragon. Griff caught her and pulled her back.

“No, let it be,” Griff ordered. “They have to learn.” 

Brienne fought him. “The last time, Gallan glided past the boat and ended up in the sea.”

“So? They’re natural swimmers. They need to learn to fly.” Griff didn’t loosen his grip. 

“Gallan, take care!” she called. “Fly.”

“Say it in High Valyrian,” Griff reminded her. 

“I wish you hadn’t read that book saying dragons understood commands in High Valyrian,” Tristan grumbled. “They could learn the Common Tongue just as easily.”

“Like how you learned dragon squawk in the last month?” Griff watched as Gallan jumped down from the mast and almost immediately caught the draft. The blue dragon glided around the ship’s deck, then flapped its wings and rose.

“It’s flying!” Brienne gasped. “It’s actually flying!”

“Aye!” The lookout called. “Dragon aloft!”

The men on deck stopped their work to look. A cheer rang out as everyone watched Gallan rise to the lookout platform. It perched on the ropes above the platform and screeched in victory. Serdun and Ardayn, as if goaded by Gallan’s success, also jumped and caught the air. They glided around the deck, as if to soak in the encouragement from the crew, then flapped hard to join Gallan. Only Catren and Allwyn were left on the mast. 

“Come on!” Brienne called. “Fly!”

Griff sighed. “Sōvegon!”

The two dragons flapped their wings and looked down at them. Above them, Serdun, Ardayn and Gallan squawked and chirped. 

“Sōvegon, Catren!” Brienne cupped her hands around her mouth. “Sōvegon, Allwyn.”

Catren dropped and Allwyn followed seconds later. Catren caught the air, flapped and managed to maintain altitude. The crew whistled and some even clapped. Allwyn glided down to the deck, not attempting to fly. Catren joined Allwyn a few seconds later. They turned to Brienne, flapping and squawking. 

Brienne pulled free from Griff and knelt by the dragons. They settled as she gathered them up in her arms. They hadn’t gotten much bigger but they’d put on weight and seemed more solid. The steady diet of fish and sunshine agreed with them. They’d started to grow scales on their backs and their nearly translucent wings were stronger.

“Ssshhh,” she murmured. “Don’t be upset. You’ll learn.”

Griff came to them. “They don’t understand your words.”

“They understand my actions.” Brienne lifted the dragons to her shoulders. “And I understand theirs. They’re frustrated and want reassurance.”

Griff shook his head as she rose. “You spoil them.”

He watched as Catren and Allwyn snuggled into her neck and rubbed their heads against her unruly blonde hair. Above them, the other three dragons continued to call down to them.

“They’re babies. There’s nothing else I can do.” She stroked their necks, just under their heads, where they liked it best.

She put them down on the rail and took the bowl from Tristan. The dragons chirped and bounced with excitement as she put two large pieces of raw fish in the bowl.

“Dracarys,” Brienne had barely spoken before the two flapped their wings and unleashed a small stream of dragonfire to roast their meal. Each snatched up the fish and made a show of devouring their dinner.

Gallan, Serdun and Ardayn came down to join them. Griff took the empty bowl from Brienne and refilled it with another piece of raw fish. He offered it to Gallan, who tilted its head politely, as if waiting for permission.

“Dracarys,” Griff urged, holding the bowl carefully by the edges.

Gallan quickly roasted and took his meal, without the flare or dramatics Allwyn and Catren displayed. Tristan took the bowl and added the remaining pieces of fish.

“Dracarys,” Tristan offered the bowl to Serdun and Ardayn. 

Both dragons looked away from the darkening horizon to chirp at him before returning to their guard duties.

“Why do they take commands from the two of you but not me?” Tristan demanded. “I’ve known them just as long as you have.”

Griff raised his brow and pretended to consider. “Perhaps the sight of your ugly face puts them off their food?”

“Aye?” Tristan stood his full, nearly seven-foot height. “Then what does it say that seeing your perfect features makes them want to burn raw meat?”

Brienne ignored them, as usual. She put the bowl down on the rail between her most devoted guards and stroked their backs, where the slightest ridge of their emerging spikes could be felt. Now, freed from their duty, they didn’t need to be prompted to cook and eat their dinner. 

“Sōvegon,” she urged them gently once they’d finished.

They both tried, flapping their wings, but they didn’t yet have the strength to perform the vertical lift. Gallan, always the practical one, didn’t bother with the lift. It simply climbed up the mast pole. Immediately, Serdun and Ardayn followed, climbing up. Catren and Allwyn stayed behind, poking their heads into the empty bowl.

“Take it easy,’ Tristan advised them. “You don’t want to get fat.”

Griff eyed the bigger man’s rounded belly. “Spoken like a true expert.”

Tristan turned on him. “It’s all muscle!”

Brienne stepped between them and scooped up her dragons. Catren and Allwyn spoke to her in their usual little chirping. 

Griff turned away from Tristan to observe the dragons. “Odd.”

“What’s odd?” Brienne leaned against the rail, a dragon tucked under each arm.

“They were the first two to start breathing fire.” He reached out to scratch Catren between its wings, causing the brown and red dragon to start wiggling in Brienne’s arms. 

“Breathing fire might be easier for them,’ Brienne pointed out, transferring Catren to Griff. “Flying requires wing strength. They’ll learn soon.”

She turned back to study the horizon, difficult now that full night rapidly darkened the sky. She stroked Allwyn, the grey and blue dragon held close, more to soothe herself than Allwyn. Griff also turned, Catren a limp weight in his arms, and studied the gathering darkness.

“This is the worst time,” Brienne commented. “Limited visibility and no moonlight.”

“The lack of visibility will keep most ships in harbor or anchored,” Griff pointed out. “We’re anchored so far out it’s unlikely we’ll encounter any of them.”

“Even if anything comes, we’re prepared.” Tristan spoke from her other side. “We’ve had a full month to practice defensive maneuvers and counter shipboard attacks. We can take on anything. We’re the _Golden Company_. Right, Griff?”

Griff was about to reply when the trio of dragons above them squawked loudly. They flapped their wings and puffed out their bodies.

Brienne looked up at them. “Something’s wrong. They only puff up when they’re defensive.”

Griff looked around but there was nothing to see in the encroaching night. Candles were being lit, carefully encased in glass stands to prevent them from tipping and burning the wooden deck.

“Olmar, what do you see?” Griff called out to the lookout.

Olmar, in the lookout perch above the mast, looked around. “I don’t see anything. All clear from here.”

Tristan tried to peer through the darkness. “Should we put out the candles?”

“Too late,” Griff said. “If anyone is coming for us, they’ve already fixed our position. We need the light to see around us. There’s no moon so we can’t go far with just the stars as a guide.”

“I still don’t see anything. I’ve been watching since before darkness fell. The waters were clear.” Olmar called down. “Do you think something is coming now?” 

Griff looked up to the dragons. Gallan, Serdun and Ardayn were still puffed up, their squawks high-pitched and urgent. Catren and Allwyn picked up on the tension and flapped their wings, wiggling to free themselves from Griff and Brienne.

“The dragons sense something,” Brienne insisted. “Griff, you know they’re not normally like this. We need to prepare.”

Griff looked down at Catren struggling to get out of his arms. The brown and red dragon strained up towards the mast post, where the other dragons were perched, puffed and aggressive. Catren, like Griff, was born to lead. It wanted to be with the others. Griff nodded.

“Raise the defenses!” Griff thrust Catren back into Brienne’s hands. “Prepare for attack!”

The men, perfectly trained with daily disciplined drills, were already in motion. Ropes lines were laid and tied down for hand grips; flat metal shields, as tall as Brienne’s shoulders, were laced against the rails while squires fastened bags of arrows wrapped in oil-soaked cloth. Archers lined up behind the shields, their bodies protected up to their shoulders, with their squires stationed behind them, torches on the ready to be lit and set arrows aflame. Heavy, water-soaked leather tarps were unrolled to make the deck more flame resistant. 

“The dragons!” Brienne held the wiggling Allwyn and tried to hold Catren. “We have to secure them below.”

“Take them to your cabin,” Griff ordered, striding to the center of the deck. “Stay with them.”

Catren and Allwyn wrenched out of Brienne’s arms and jumped to the mast pole. Both Griff and Tristan tried to grab them but, with their sharp little claws, they practically raced up the pole.

“Come back!” Brienne cried frantically. “It’s not safe!”

“Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa!” Griff yelled up. 

The dragons refused his command to come down to him. They continued to flap and squawk, staring hard at something on the port side.

“They’re looking left,” Tristan observed. “Whatever they see, it’s on the left side.”

Griff nodded. “Archers, double the port side but leave defense on starboard! Olmar, do you see anything?”

Olmar stared hard into the darkness. “No, still nothing!”

“I trust the dragons,” Brienne insisted. “If they’re upset, then something is out there.”

Griff nodded again. “I agree. They can see and sense a lot further can we can, especially in the dark. Brienne, get them below. We don’t know if what’s coming is for us or for them, but I’m not taking any chances.”

“Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa!” Brienne pleaded, looking up at the dragons. “Please!”

Despite their tense situation, Tristan grinned. “Aye, that’s how your counter bloodlust. Use your best manners.”

“Bloodlust?” Brienne stared at the big man. “They don’t have bloodlust.”

“Not yet but they will,” Tristan predicted. “Let them see someone come at their mother with spear or sword. Then the dragons will show bloodlust even a Dothraki bloodrider can’t match.”

Brienne and Griff stared at him in horror. Then Griff turned to Olmar.

“Throw down the dragons, Olmar!”

Olmar stared at him as if Griff had lost his mind. Still, he tried to reach for Serdun, the dragon closest to him. The green and orange dragon hissed and shifted away, beyond Olmar’s reach.

“I can’t get to them!” Olmar reported.

Before Griff could argue further, Serdun dropped. Gallan and Ardayn dropped seconds later. All three caught the air and glided past the _Sea Keeper_ and into the darkness beyond.

“No!” Brienne screamed and rushed to the railing. 

Everyone turned to look past the port side. A deathly silence descended on the deck, is if they had all stopped breathing. Even Catren and Allwyn, still on the mast, stopped squawking. Long moments passed, the men ready and in positions. Anxiety and anticipation soured the air around them but no one wavered, gazes fixed and muscles locked, ready for whatever might come their way. Brienne could hear her blood pound in her ears as they waited, as still as possible on the gently rocking ship, ears strained for any sounds of impending attack. 

There was the flare of dragonfire and in its illumination, Gallan, Serdun and Ardayn sitting on the mast of a large ship, sails fully extended, headed straight for them. A muffled roar, like a hundred screams, came from the pirate ship. The three streams of dragonfire concentrated on the same point, lighting the sail on fire, revealing not only the pirate ship but two other ships behind it. The screams of fear and shock became louder as the ships came closer. 

“Three ships!” Olmar called. “They each have crows!”

“What’s a crow?” Tristan demanded. 

“It’s a steel boarding plank with sharp claws,” Brienne explained. “They’ll use it attach to our ship and board.” She called up to Olmar. “Are the flank ships behind or beside the lead ship?”

“Behind,” Olmar reported.

Brienne turned to Griff. “That means they plan to chain their ships once they’ve attached to the _Sea Keeper_. They know they can’t overwhelm us by surrounding us so they’re going to come at us in waves, wear us down. This isn’t a raid. They know they’re against the _Golden Company_. They’re here to kill.”

Griff’s blue eyes darkened to black. “Then death is what they shall have. We’ll leave no man alive.”

“What about the dragons?” Brienne demanded. “Ardayn, Serdun and Gallan are still there.”

“Archers, aim low!” Griff ordered. “The dragons are on the mast of the lead ship.”

Just then, the mast of the lead ship crumbled to the deck. The three dragons leapt into the air then glided into the night. Fire raced along the length of the pirate ship’s deck, further illuminating the horrifying scene as men, some with their clothes on fire, beat at the flames. 

“No!” Brienne screamed. “My dragons!”

“Brienne, fire can’t kill a dragon!” Griff caught her arm and dragged her away from the railing.

She fought him. “No, but swords and arrows can!”

They heard a thud and stopped struggling to look. The ship behind the burning ship was still at full sails. It had run into the burning ship and drove it forward. The pirates hadn’t anticipated a surprise assault from the _Sea Keeper_ nor had they prepared for a dragon attack.

“The lead is off course,” Olmar called. “They can’t lock their crows unless they turn the ship. The other ships are trying to use it as a battering ram.”

“Archers, fire at will! Pole men, put out the ramming pole,” Griff ordered. “We can’t let their ship set us on fire. The pole will give us some distance. Olmar, call out the marks!”

Brienne stared at the burning hull, trying to find her dragons in the midst of the flames. The men all appeared to be either burning or putting out the flames, all while trying to dodge the barrage of flaming arrows from the _Sea Keeper_. None of the pirates appeared to be looking for or attacking a target. Still…

Olmar called out the marks, the flaming ship came closer, driven by the full sails of the flank ship behind it. Brienne knew what she had to do. She ran up to the bow of the _Sea Keeper_ , near the ramming pole, to where there was a break in the shield line. The archers and their squires paid no attention to her, focused on shooting flaming arrows into any moving target.

“Brace for impact!” Olmar called.

The archers and squires stopped and ducked down, grabbing for hand holds. Brienne jumped up onto the wide railing then ran down the length, watching the burning ship drift closer, then dove across, crossing the divide as the burning ship hit the ram pole. The pirates barely noticed her, thrown by the impact, their screams of pain and panic throbbing in the air around them. 

“Brienne!” Griff yelled. “No, Brienne!”

The burning ship shuddered as part of the hull collapsed and the flank ship drove into it. Fire jumped from the burning ship to the flank ship, licking at its bow. The other side would soon fail, too, forcing the _Sea Keeper’s_ ram pole to lock the ships together. Griff must have realized the danger, too. 

“Pull in the ram pole! Put up sails!” she heard him order.

Men from the flank ship came to their ship’s bow. Burning arrows rained down on them from the _Sea Keeper_. Brienne unsheathed _Oathkeeper_ and rose to her feet. She tried to ignore the flames and crackling wood around her. The fire was not her priority. Her dragons were here. She had to save them. It was her destiny.

The sword came at her out of nowhere. Brienne saw it from the corner of her vision and blocked it with _Oathkeeper_. The pirate brute was strong, hammering at her with repeated blows, driving her back with each bone-jarring clash of steel.

“Brienne!” Griff shouted. “Behind you.”

She turned, quick enough to avoid a blade in her back but not quick enough to avoid the sword altogether. It sliced through her upper right arm then jammed against her collarbone. _Oathkeeper_ fell from her nerveless fingers. She kicked out hard to push the second assailant away. The first man sliced into her left thigh and she crumpled.

He raised his sword to bring it straight down into her heart. A burst of dragonfire set the man alight. The man screamed and backed away. Catren and Allwyn glided down beside Brienne, the bloodlust Tristan had spoken about shining in their cold, reptilian eyes. The second man stared in shock for an instant, long enough for the dragons to turn on him, setting his clothes ablaze.

Brienne tried to crawl back, her upper arm and thigh bleeding, burning wood crackling around her. More pirates leapt onto the burning ship, despite the rain of fiery arrows. She lunged for _Oathkeeper_ then snatched her hand back. The cloth strips covering the pommel were on fire. The air around her moved with the familiar swing of steel. Instinct made her throw her body back, flatten on the deck as the sword swung past her head. 

Catren and Allwyn screeched in outrage, then blasted the swordsman. Brienne snatched up her sword, the pommel still hot but not unbearable. She rolled onto her knees, looking for a target. Someone came up behind her, she held up _Oathkeeper_ to block the thrust. She turned to face her opponent when a sword appeared pushing out of his chest. The man fell forward, revealing Griff behind him, _Firestorm_ dripping with the pirate’s blood.

“Brienne, get up,” Griff held out his free hand. “We have to get back to our ship. The _Sea Keeper_ is in full sail.”

She looked over. The _Sea Keeper_ was retreating from the burning ship. The archers were still keeping the pirates from the flank ship from rushing them but they would lose that protection in minutes. 

“Third ship turning starboard!” Olmar called out. 

The third ship was trying to go around the burning ship and reach the _Sea Keeper_ from the other side. A triple blast of dragonfire set its sails ablaze. Screams of rage and fear came from the ship. Then a roar, so full of fury it drowned out the closer screams, made the air around them tremble. Brienne’s blood ran cold, even while surrounded by dragonfire, burning men and open flames.

“Griff, get off the ship!” she ordered. “It’s coming!”

Griff looked around; _Firestorm_ held ready. “What, where?”

“The dragon!” Brienne yelled. “The dragon! Get off this ship!”

Then it was too late. The big dragon roared with uncontrolled rage. Its blast of dragonfire made the baby dragons’ fire look like weak sparks in comparison, striking all three attacking ships in a single breath.

“Griff, no!” Brienne cried. “No!”

Griff, like every other man in the dragon’s path, was on fire, his clothes curling into ashes as they fell from his body. It took Brienne a moment to comprehend, while the other men were falling to their knees or flat onto their faces, sobbing with agony, Griff was still _moving_. In fact, he moved so fast he was a blur of motion, his usual water dance style now transformed into a fire dance, _Firestorm_ an extension of his body as he cut through opponents and flames alike. 

The big dragon roared again, this time concentrating its attack on the flank ships, as if it knew Griff would take care of the men on the first ship himself. Brienne, unable to look away from living flame that was Griff, barely registered the five small dragons surrounding her, her lethal bodyguards with bloodlust in their eyes and death in their mouths.

Griff finally stopped, breathing heavily, the fire around him a pale comparison to the flames in his nearly black eyes. Naked, muscles taunt and ready, sweaty skin unmarked and healthy, sword held aloft, surrounded by the dead and the defeated, even the mythical Titan of Braavos would not be his equal. 

“You, you…” she stammered. “You’re not burnt.”

“No.” His smile was sharper than the Valyrian steel blade in his hand. “I’m the blood of the dragon.”

Translations:  
“Sōvegon” (fly)  
“Dracarys” (Dragonfire)  
“Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa!” (Dragons, come to me!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think? Do you like where I'm taking this story? Did you know who Griff really was? How do you think he's going to react to Brienne's actions? Please let me know what you think and if you have any questions or suggestions.


	11. Blood Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kings feared they couldn’t control the dragons so they suppressed them, causing the dragons born to become smaller and weaker. Finally, the dragon eggs no longer hatched. The so-called wise kings were so bloated with their own power, they diminished the magic of the dragons. They forgot kingship is a duty, not a right.

### Chapter 11: Blood Keeper 

Brienne stared at Griff until he grabbed her arm and pulled her up. _Firestorm_ glistened with blood and fire in his sword hand. The little dragons squawked and fluttered around them. 

“We need to leave.” He pushed her towards the railing.

The burning deck crumbled under their feet, causing her to stumble, but instinct took over. She threw off his hand to jump over the burning railing and dive into the blackened waters. Her wet clothes, injuries and _Oathkeeper_ hampered her efforts to fight back to the surface. She sunk down into the depths, the water cooler away from the heat of the battle. Griff’s arm came around her waist and he propelled them both above the waterline.

“The dragons,’ she gasped, kicking hard, barely noticing the aching pain from her arm and thigh.

“There!” Griff pointed with _Firestorm_.

The burning ships provided illumination. Brienne calmed when she saw the five glide across to the _Sea Keeper_. The relief died when the big dragon reappeared, this time hovering over the attacking ships. 

“Get down!” Griff dragged them under as the dragon roared again.

Through the haze of water, they watched the prolonged burst of dragonfire the dragon inflicted on the attack boats. They would be reduced to ashes. Brienne’s lungs were burning for air by the time the dragon paused. She and Griff broke to the surface again, gasping for breath. The dragon circled, as if looking for another target.

“No, not the _Sea Keeper_!” Brienne cried.

Five sparks of dragonfire appeared from the _Sea Keeper’s_ mast rope. The big dragon circled one more time then flew off into the darkness. A heavy stillness fell over the water, the last remnants of the attack ships hissing and steaming, the Golden Company men still on the ready, prepared for a possible next wave of attack. 

Brienne deliberately focused on swimming back to the _Sea Keeper_ , knowing she had to get to the five before allowing her mind to be overwhelmed by what she’d seen. The five small dragons were her responsibility, not the big dragon who had burned hundreds of men in mere minutes or the blue-haired dragon beside her, who had not burned at all while dancing through the flames with his own kind of fire power.

The dragons squawked from the mast rope above them but the men were quiet, still focused on watching the waters below, as she climbed up the rope and dragged herself to the deck. Tristan hauled her over the rail and dropped her like a sack of potatoes. Brienne sucked in air in harsh gasps, shoving her wet hair away from her face.

“Brienne, that was fucking insane!” Tristan lip curled. “I thought Griff was going to kill _you_ when he jumped to their ship. What possessed you to jump onto a fucking _burning_ ship?” 

The big man scowled at her but still offered a hand to help her up. Brienne had to use her left hand since her right arm had stiffened and no longer obeyed her commands. The dragons glided down to her, chirping urgently.

“The dragons were on that ship,” she reminded him. “I had to protect them.”

“Protect who?” Griff snarled from behind her. “The dragons who don’t burn and can glide from ship to ship? The crew that had to leave holes in our defense to avoid hitting you and thereby endangering all our lives? Your own _stupid_ self by jumping into the line of fire and forcing the dragons to defend you? Me, who had to jump across to save you? You endangered all of us with your thoughtless actions. I should throw you in solitary as punishment.”

He wrapped a cloth around his waist and tied it with a vicious jerk. With his blue hair plastered to his head, eyes sparking fire and water running down to soak into his makeshift skirt, he again evoked the image of the Titan of Braavos. Brienne suddenly remembered what their ship’s captain had said when she and Pod had first seen the statue.

_"In the old times, whenever Braavos stood in danger, the titan would step with fire in his eyes."_

Griff had certainly done that but he wasn’t the Titan, he was a _dragon_.

“They weren’t the only ones who didn’t burn.” Brienne snarled. “Who _are_ you?”

Griff went very still and Tristan stiffened beside her. The men, already silent and watching the waters, focused on their duties with greater intensity. Even the little dragons fell silent, watching Griff as he took a deep breath and calmed himself.

“Go to your cabin,” he ordered. “We have to secure the ship and assure there’s not another wave of attack coming at us.”

She stood her ground. “I want the truth.”

“You’ll have it,” he snapped, “once I secure our ship.”

He turned away from her. Brienne tried to speak again but Tristan took her arm. 

“Let him work,” Tristan advised, “and calm down. You’ll have your answers.”

Tristan tugged but not harshly. Brienne resisted, watching the men react to Griff as he barked out orders.

“Search the waters. Double the guards. Shoot flaming arrows into anything that moves.” Griff strode rapidly towards the bow. “Leave no pirate alive.”

The men reacted with practiced precision, not at all shocked to have witnessed their commander fight while in flames. In fact, most of them grinned and nodded, as if the display had validated their faith in their leader.

“You know what he is,” Brienne whispered as she allowed Tristan to take her below. “You all know.”

He didn’t reply as he guided her to her cabin, the dragons trailing after them. Her door didn’t have a latch, but that hadn’t been an issue. No one was unprofessional or stupid enough to barge in on fire breathing dragons. The room wasn’t large, just big enough for a bunk fastened to one wall, a desk affixed to the opposite wall and space to cross from one to the other in two steps. 

“Who is he, Tristan?” Brienne demanded. “Why he didn’t burn when struck by dragonfire?”

Tristan gave her a hard look. “I think a woman raising dragons can answer that for herself.”

Brienne stared at him. His eyes gave nothing away. Tristan waited for the dragons to enter the room before he silently closed the door behind himself. Brienne sunk down into the chair to remove her boots, sword belt and wet clothes. Her right arm had swollen and she couldn’t raise it. She toed off her boots and used her left hand to unfasten the belt.

The dragons perched on the chairback and the table beside her, chirping comfortingly. Brienne reached out to Serdun, the dragon closest to her hand. She stroked under his head, the soft join at the neck, where the dragons were most sensitive.

“You were magnificent,” she said, smiling at all of them. “Sȳrī gaomagon.” 

The dragons crowded close, rubbing against her. Allwyn hopped into her lap and Brienne winced in pain as the sharp little claws dug into the sword slice in her upper thigh. Her wound was still bleeding and swelling, a warning signal of pending infection. She had barely struggled out of the chair when the door was thrown open.

Griff stood there, now dressed in dark breeches and a lighter tone shirt, the colors muted in the dim candle light. He came into the room, revealing the young squires behind him. One squire brought in a tray with a jug, a bottle of wine, a pile of cloth, a large bowl and more candles.

“I’m not thirsty,” Brienne insisted.

The dragons looked up in interest. Allwyn and Catren went from Brienne to Griff, then tried to go past him to the squires with their heavy trays.

“Your reward is coming.” Griff carried Catren and Allwyn, who poked their heads into the bowl. “Put the first tray on the chair and let the dragons have the table. Then get out. No one is to disturb us unless there is another attack, understood?”

The squires quickly arranged the trays and left the room. The dragons gathered around the desk and chirped in delight. They fired into the metal bowl then feasted on whatever treat Griff had brought for them.

“Who are you?” Brienne demanded, glancing sideways at _Oathkeeper_ , sheathed out of her reach.

Griff stared at her for a moment, dark blue eyes still angry and narrowed. Then he nodded, as if coming to a decision. “My name, my _real_ name is Aegon Targaryen, the rightful King of Westeros.”

Brienne returned his stare. “Aegon Targaryen died as a baby during Robert’s Rebellion.”

Griff snorted. “That’s what my enemies were led to believe. I was snuck out of the Red Keep and smuggled to Braavos just before the sacking of King’s Landing. I grew up with a false name, a false identity and even false hair color.”

She looked down at her dragons. “That’s a convenient story. How can you prove your claim?”

He stared at her. “Fire doesn’t harm me.”

“Yes, that means you have the blood of the dragon,” she agreed. “It’s no secret that King Aerys and most of the Targaryen men had bastards. How will you prove you’re the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell, the true ruler of the seven kingdoms?”

His expression became stark. “I’ll prove my claim when I take the Iron Throne.”

“And your men? They believe your claim, don’t they?” Brienne sunk down on the bed, the only place to sit. 

“Yes.” Griff sat down beside her and dragged the chair closer. 

“I’m not thirsty,” she repeated, looking at the water and wine on the tray.

He uncorked the wine and poured it into the bowl. “It’s not for you to drink. It’s to clean your wounds before I bind them.”

“You know how to bind wounds?”

“I know many things. From the moment I could walk, I’ve worked. From the moment I could understand, I’ve learned.” He held up the bottle. “For example, I’ve learned that wine, strong enough to sting the throat, decreases swelling and corruption in wounds.”

“Thank you for the wine.” She tried to shift away from him but there wasn’t much room in the cabin, not with the dragons crowding close to them. “I can bind my own wounds.”

He raised his brow. “That sword went in through your arm and out your shoulder. I’m surprised you can even move it now.” 

“Actually, I can’t,” she admitted. 

“Let me see,” he shifted closer and picked up a candle. 

He lit the bigger candle from the flame of the slim candle beside the bunk then brought it close to her wound. Instinctively, she pulled away when she felt the heat of the flame.

“Brienne, fire cannot hurt a dragon.” Still he stopped, keeping the flame away from her arm.

“I’m not a dragon.” 

He frowned but put down the candle. “Then how did you birth the five?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I told you, I didn’t birth them. I _found_ them.”

Something sharp flickered in the depths of his dark blue eyes, but his voice was even. “Brienne, men have been scouring all of Essos to find dragon eggs. There are whole companies whose sole duty is to follow the dragon, then search the areas where it lands. You say you just wandered into a cave in the middle of nowhere, that no one had ever found before, were guided to baby dragons then guarded when you brought them back. Do you hear how false that sounds?”

Heat flushed her cheeks. “No falser than you lying to me about your identity and your reasons for helping me.”

The sharp flicker in his eyes turned into a flare. “I did not lie to you. This is the secret I’ve kept my entire life. It’s why I’m still alive. As for my reasons for helping you, you approached _me_ at the dock in Braavos, wanting to work for passage to Tyrosh, remember?”

She frowned but said nothing.

“Then you asked me to provide you safe passage into the Disputed Lands, without telling me why you wanted to go,” he continued. “I didn’t question you, even when you came back and begged me to get you out of Tyrosh immediately, again without telling me why.”

He paused for a beat, allowing his words to sink in. She shifted her gaze away from him, to the dragons who were settling themselves, heads and wings drooping. 

“Every time you needed help, I helped you, without knowing why. Don’t accuse me of being false to you.” 

He stopped speaking when his voice began to rise, allowing the silence to settle heavily between them. Even the dragons were quiet now, draping themselves on the pillows and the bunk around them.

“As for not being a dragon.” His voice drew her attention back to him. “Look at your sleeve.”

She frowned and looked down at her wounded arm. The sea water had soaked the material and washed away some of the gore but fresh blood oozed out of the tear. The wound began to throb now that she was paying attention to it.

“Your other sleeve,” Griff directed, his voice suddenly amused.

Brienne looked and froze. There was no other sleeve, only the charred remains of material near her left shoulder. 

“Your shirt caught fire when the pirate sliced into your thigh.” He ran his fingers lightly over her back, over the tender skin she didn’t realize was exposed. “You put it out yourself when you fell back to avoid that blade. Your back is red but not burnt. Catren and Allwyn burned off your left sleeve when they fired on the pirates. Is your arm burnt?”

Stunned, Brienne looked at her arm again. Her skin was red and raw but unburnt and unbroken. She shook her head. 

“I’m not a dragon, how can I be a dragon?” she protested. “I’m from Tarth, the daughter of the Evenstar. Only Targaryens are connected to dragons.” 

“Yes,” he agreed, “only Targaryens are connected to dragons, only Targareyns can’t be hurt by fire. You cannot be hurt by fire, so you must have some blood of the dragon.”

It sounded logical but it also sounded _insane_. 

“No,” she protested. “I am my parents’ daughter. I have my father’s eyes. A fire started outside my birthing room the night I was born. My mother couldn’t be moved. The men formed a chain to bring water from the Straits of Tarth to put out the flames. Women fanned my mother to keep the salt and smoke from reaching her or me. My birth was witnessed by many women, so I am truly my mother’s daughter.”

Griff stared at her for a moment, his face pale. Then he took a deep breath, almost as if he was centering himself.

“What about your grandparents?” He picked up the candle again. “I’m only half Targaryen and I have the blood of the dragon. We don’t know how much dragon’s blood it takes to be a dragon.”

Brienne looked at the candle flame and remembered Jamie speaking in the bath at Harrenhall.

 _“Burn them all, he kept saying, burn them all. I don’t think he expected to die.”_

“Is this known?” Brienne whispered. “Is that why the Targaryen kings were so fond of wildfire? Is that why the Mad King…”

She stopped, suddenly realizing the Mad King might be Griff’s grandfather. Griff could be the grandson of King Aerys, the son of Prince Rhaegar, the heir to the Iron Throne. She was sitting on a bunk, stinking of fire and blood, surrounded by dragons, afloat in the Narrow Sea with the possible true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

“Is that why the Mad King was so obsessed with burning his enemies or those he thought were his enemies?” Griff finished her thoughts. “Is that why he thought he’d be reborn as a dragon?”

She blushed, “I’m sorry, I had no right to say that. It wasn’t my place ---”

“Why not? It’s true,” he interrupted her fumbled apology. “I told you I started to learn as soon as I could understand. I know about my grandfather. I know he became insane and destabilized all of Westeros. I know my father was a weak man who was led by his cock and not his brain. They were arrogant fools who believed that being king was their right, not their responsibility.”

“What do you mean?”

“They thought everything was theirs to have, to command, to destroy.” Griff’s mouth turned down as he spoke. “And destroy they did. Even before they destroyed their own reigns, they spread destruction. They experimented with fire and with wildfire, trying to turn themselves into dragons. Before my grandfather, other Targaryens were obsessed with fire, with trying to hatch dragon eggs. I was named after Aegon the fifth. He, his heir Duncan and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Duncan the Tall, were killed during a fire at Summerhall for that obsession.”

“Ser Duncan is an ancestor of mine,” Brienne offered. “We have one of his shields in our armory at Evenfall. Serdun is named after him.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Griff smiled, glancing over at the sleepy green and orange dragon. “Our lineage is bound together for several generations. We may have many relations.”

“But Aegon the fifth and Duncan, his son, died during the fire. How is that possible if they’re immune to fire?” 

“Being a Targaryen isn’t enough to make a person immune to fire.” Griff gently probed the tear around her wound. “Take the candle. I have to rip open your shirt to clean and bind your arm and shoulder.”

She pulled the edges of the tear closed with her left hand. “It’s fine. I can do it myself.”

He raised his eyebrow. “You’re going to bind your shoulder with one hand?”

The hated blush colored her skin from forehead to toes. She knew what she looked like, a warrior with scars and muscles when most women had unblemished skin and delicate figures. 

“Kings shouldn’t perform menial tasks such as cleaning wounds,” she mumbled, trying to shift away from him.

“Most kings would be far better rulers if they did.” He thrust the candle into her hand. “Perhaps if they saw the results of their commands, they would think carefully before they made decisions. I’ve had to severe corrupted limbs and gather up innards to keep men alive.”

He grabbed the bloody edges of her shirt sleeve and pulled them apart. The thin, wet material tore open to neck and wrist. Brienne gasped. She tried to fumble with her injured arm to cover her meager breast but he grabbed her hand.

“Stop moving and bring the candle closer,” her ordered.

Her skin flushed such a deep red, it made the injured skin look pale in comparison. Griff looked up into her eyes, his mouth pulled down into a frown.

“Brienne, we are beyond modesty,” he said quietly. “We’re in the middle of the sea, in darkness, hours away from the closest port. Your wounds have been soaking in salt water and they appear infected. Do you want me to clean them or do you want to lose your arm?”

She thought of Jamie again, of how he had nearly allowed himself to die when he lost his hand. She’d bullied and scolded him to keep him alive. _One taste, one taste of the real world._ A bitter taste, one she didn’t want to experience.

“Well?’ Griff’s impatient voice interrupted her thoughts.

She blinked as the image of Jamie’s chiseled jawline, sculpted cheekbones and weathered skin was replaced by Griff’s young, refined, too-beautiful features. Fiery green eyes melted into cool, fathomless blue.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked quietly.

“Hold the candle closer so I can see.” He soaked a cloth in the bowl of wine. “This will hurt.”

She nodded, preparing herself. Still, she barely muffled the grunt when the wine bit into her torn skin. She looked at the dragons. They gathered closer, watching anxiously, chirping in comfort. 

“It’s going to get worse,” he warned her. “I have to lift you arm to clean those wounds then bind your arm and shoulder separately.”

She nodded, gritting her teeth to keep from crying out. It wasn’t so bad now that she was ready for it. He worked quickly, alternating between water and wine to wash out the salt and blood, then binding the injuries with clean cloth. Even so, she sighed with relief when he finally took the candle and pushed her back to lie on the bunk. Immediately, the dragons gathered around her, surrounding her with their heavy, hot weight, chirping anxiously.

“Are you okay?” He studied her pale, sweaty face and shifted Gallan from where it was too close to her bindings. “I still have to look at your leg.”

She nodded. “That won’t be so bad. It’s just a cut.” 

He nodded. She heard him tear her breeches and willed herself not to blush. 

“You…you were telling me about the fire at Summerhall.” She spoke more to distract herself than him. “Why did the king and his heir die in the fire if they were Targaryen?” 

“Very few Targaryens had dragon’s blood,” Griff explained as he pressed the wine-soaked cloth to her thigh. “Even Daenerys’s brother Viserys was killed by fire when he angered Khal Drago.”

She hissed in a sharp breath. “Who?”

“The Dothraki warlord the Dragon Queen married. Khal means ‘king’ in Dothraki.” Griff wound clean cloth around her thigh. “Your leg will be fine after a few days. It’s just cut. Nothing was severed.”

She relaxed. “That’s good.”

She could feel light scales and emerging spikes under her left hand. She rubbed gently and felt the shudder that passed the length of the small dragon. _Ardayn_. She looked down and blinked. The silver-grey dragon blinked back and rubbed its head against her arm. How had she known which dragon she’d been petting without looking at it?

Griff also looked down at the dragons, his expression thoughtful. “I think the reason the dragons have returned is that all three of us have the blood of the dragon.”

She struggled to sit up but it was difficult with only one arm and dragons all around her. She gave up the effort. “What do you mean?”

Griff moved Allwyn and Serdun so he could stretch out beside her, his head resting on his hand. The dragons squawked in protest but resettled on the pillow above their heads.

“I’ve been told Rhaegar believed a prophecy that said the dragon must have three heads. There were no living dragons at the time, so he took it to mean he should have three children, hopefully all with dragon’s blood. Then he died at the Trident and my sister died at the sacking of King’s Landing. I hadn’t thought much about the prophecy until Daenerys birthed her dragons. We now have three people with the blood of the dragon thus she was able to bring three dragons into the world.”

“You think having enough dragon’s blood in the world allowed the dragons to be born? But there are more than three dragons,” Brienne pointed out. “Daenerys birthed the big dragon, now that dragon has birthed these five.”

“Exactly.” Griff smiled at the dragons gathered around them. “Magic is a power. It was dormant for so long because there wasn’t enough energy – dragon’s blood – for it to draw upon. Dragons and magic are now coming back into the world.”

She also looked at the dragons snuggling down, taking up more room, pushing them closer.

“But why did the Gods choose this as the time to bring back dragon’s blood?” she wondered. “What kind of threat is coming that will require a dragon with three heads?” 

“I don’t know.” Griff’s eyes darkened as he thought. “I suspect we’ll find out when the time is right.”

She frowned, trying to follow his logic. “You think something is coming that requires dragons to counter it? To use them as a defensive strategy or as weapons?”

He hesitated. “It’s possible.”

“No,” she said firmly. “I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t allow it.” He flopped onto his back and laughed harshly. “How do you plan to stop it?”

She glared at him. “By stopping the dragons.”

He rolled on his side to stare at her. “How? These dragons set ships and men on fire to protect you. They’re bonded to you. It’s their instinct to keep you safe. How will you control their nature?”

She stared back at him, speechless.

His expression softened. “Do you know why the dragons became extinct?”

She shook her head.

“They died off because my ancestors believed it was their right to control everything, including the dragons.” Fire flared in his eyes again. “They locked up the dragons in pits, denied them sunshine and freedom, limited their movement and kept them from flight. Like any chained creature, they weakened in captivity. The kings feared they couldn’t control the dragons so they suppressed them, causing the dragons born to become smaller and weaker. Finally, the dragon eggs no longer hatched. The so-called wise kings were so bloated with their own power, they diminished the magic of the dragons. They forgot kingship is a duty, not a right.”

Brienne said nothing as she watched the fire blaze brighter in his eyes.

“Do you know why the dragons have returned?” Griff asked.

She shook her head again.

“They’ve come back because a strong leader is here to guide Westeros forward. No longer will the people have to endure mad, cruel or incompetent rulers. They will soon have a king who will put the people first. I won’t make men or dragons smaller.” He cupped her cheek, his long, elegant fingers sliding into her hair. “Brienne, are you with me? Will you join me in leading Westeros to a great and glorious future?”

A great and glorious future. A king who saw the people, not as subjects he would control but as men and women he would serve. One who didn’t limit his acceptance only to those who matched some perfect ideal, but would embrace those least wanted and most abused by society. A good man with _honor_ , who understood the value of oaths and honesty, who ruled with kindness, who would never force those under his command to make impossible, dishonorable choices.

Brienne’s heart began to beat faster. He was saying what she longed to hear. She knew hers was not a future of handsome lords or pretty flattery. Her future was to serve under a great leader, one who gave the best of himself to bring out the best in those he protected. Could Griff be that man? A king _of_ the people instead of a king _over_ the people? 

“Can you really do that?” she whispered. 

He leaned closer. “I can, if you join me.”

Brienne’s heart hammered so hard she feared it would jump out of her chest. She had known men of honor before. Renly had been an angel, too sweet and too gentle to be long in such a cruel world. His claim to the Iron Throne had been weak, she’d known, but he’d been a kind and just man, who’d seen beyond her outer shell to the person inside.

Jamie was the image of the Warrior himself, with beauty so clean and sharp, touching it could make a woman bleed. Jamie had shown honor, when she had desperately needed it, had even risked his life for hers. But Jamie had a terrible weakness; a love for his family that overruled logic and reason, that nearly broke him time and time again. 

Could this one, _Griff_ , with his blue hair and his blue eyes, his promises of a new, better world, could he truly be a knight in shining armor, coming to rescue all of Westeros? What he offered was all she had hoped for. But what would be the cost? Renly had lost his life, Jamie his hand. What price would Griff pay, what price would _she_ pay, for that vision?

Griff shifted closer, his other hand cupped her chin, so their gazes met. His deep blue eyes had darkened almost to black. She didn’t know if she should push him away or pull him closer. What did he want? What did she want? Accept what he offered with no reservations or reject his offer without hesitation? The battle between her mind and her heart made her light-headed. 

_No_ , he is false, her head screamed. 

_Yes_ , he is hope, her blood throbbed. 

His mouth curved into a dark smile. _She knew that smile_. It called to her, at the same time as it sent chills through her, the secrets that surrounded him. It was possible Griff was no knight, no hero. He could wear the face of a false angel; be a demon sent to lead her into all of the seven hells. Brienne feared she might go willingly, as long as she had that smile to numb the tortures of eternity. 

She stood on the edge of the precipice, unable to flee back to safety, equally unable to fall into the darkness. She knew, with terrible certainty, the decision she made would have ramifications far beyond herself, beyond this quiet, dark night, even beyond the dragons. She was the Gods’ warrior, the instrument of their will. Could she stay true to them while also staying true to herself?

 

Translations:  
Sȳrī gaomagon.” (well done)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I missed posting last night - too much going on right now. Do you enjoy reading about Brienne's adventure in Essos? Are you ready for her to go back to Westeros? Please let me know how I'm doing!


	12. Vow Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The dragon birthed these five but they believe Brienne is their mother.” Harry’s voice was suspiciously neutral. “She walked into the Disputed Lands with no protection and walked out with a score of slaver’s horses and five baby dragons. I think there are a few details missing in her story.”

### Chapter 12: Vow Keeper 

Two months later…

“Valyria?” Brienne stared at Griff in open-mouthed shock. “You want us to go to Valyria? To islands of fire, boiling seas and greyscale? Why?”

“For the dragons.” Griff indicated with a wave of his hand. “They need more room to roam.”

They were back in the meeting room at the _Golden Company’s_ office in Tyrosh. The long, dark room had no windows, only doors on both ends. The door they’d entered through was shut while the other door was barred from the inside. Candles were lit around the room for light, creating a warm, womb-like sense. The crate they’d used to smuggle the dragons into the city rested in the corner, wooden lid against it. The dragons screeched and flew in circles, flapping their now impressive wings.

“Brienne, look at them,” Griff indicated with his hand. “They can barely contain themselves.”

“They have plenty of room to roam,” Brienne argued. “The seas are quite wide. They’re only upset because they were in a dark crate while we brought them to the office.”

“Your cabin wasn’t much bigger. They didn’t have enough space. That’s why they set it on fire.” Griff scowled.

“No, they set my cabin on fire by accident,” she insisted firmly. “Their fire strength and range are increasing. They don’t understand their own power.” 

“Exactly,” Griff agreed quickly. “We have fire-breathing dragons on a wooden ship. It’s only a matter of time before they create a fire we cannot put out before it burns out of control. They need more space.”

“You’re annoyed because they don’t like your pacing at night,” Brienne grumbled. “It disturbs their sleep.”

“I don’t pace, I plan,” he corrected. “I review previous battle strategies to understand what failed, what succeeded and why. If one does not learn from history, they will be taught by it.”

Brienne opened her mouth to speak but the door leading to the main room opened. She sprang from her chair to face the entrance. The dragons rushed to their side. Gallan, Catren and Allwyn stationed themselves on the table in front of them, Ardayn perched on Griff’s left shoulder while Serdun landed on Brienne’s. She gently rotated her right shoulder to center her balance. The injury to her sword arm and shoulder had healed well, due to Griff’s careful ministrations, but she was still working on regaining her strength.

It was Tristan, followed by Serjeant Loth and another man. The dragons squawked in greeting but didn’t alter their defensive positions. Tristan strolled into the room but Serjeant and the other man remained in the doorway, eyes wide.

“Aye, Serjeant, Commander.” Tristan grinned. “You look as if you’ve never seen a dragon up close before.”

Serjeant cleared his throat. “Aye, I’ve seen one. Don’t really want to see it up close again.”

The other man blinked rapidly, as if his mind was trying to process what he was seeing. 

“They took defensive positions when we came to the door.” He looked at Griff. “Did you teach them that?”

The man and Serjeant tried to come into the room. The dragons hissed and puffed; their warning clear. The men froze in the doorway.

“Nah, they do that to everybody. They’re naturally protective of Brienne.” Tristan crossed to the other side of the table and gently stroked Allwyn, who was closest to him. The grey and blue dragon accepted his touch but didn’t alter its aggressive stance.

“Ardayn, māzigon naejot issa,” Brienne ordered softly.

Ardayn looked at her while still perched on Griff’s shoulder. Griff shrugged and the dragon jumped to the table, behind Allwyn, Catren and Gallan, close to Brienne. Tristan sat down with a delighted smirk creasing his weathered, battered face.

“Aye, they’re protective of Brienne,” he repeated. “Griff, they don’t care about so much.”

Griff ignored him to address the men. “They’ll be fine once they know you’re not a threat. Sit on the other side and keep your hands on the table. They’ll come to you when they’re ready.”

“Come, sit,” Tristan encouraged, patting the chair next to his. “They’ll warm up to you or…” his grin was wicked, “they’ll warm you up.”

Brienne glared at Tristan but said nothing as she seated herself. The dragons remained defensive, watching the men enter the room. They came to the table and sat down, moving slowly and carefully, trying not to look at the dragons. Their postures were ramrod stiff and their jaws were locked. They sat on the same side as Tristan but far enough away to satisfy the dragons, who relaxed noticeably.

Griff sat down next to Brienne, pulling Serdun and Catren closer. Tristan again stroked Allwyn. This time it relaxed its stance and went to him. The unknown man watched their interactions carefully.

“It’s one thing to read reports about the five,” he commented. “It’s quite another to see them.”

The dragons were a sight. They were as big as cats, with their translucent wings now grown to almost double the length of their bodies, strengthened by constant flying and swimming. A definite scale pattern had appeared on their backs and their colors were more vibrant.

“Brienne, this is our commander, Harry Strickland,” Griff introduced. “Commander, this is Brienne of Tarth.”

“Reports?” Brienne barely nodded to Harry before turning to Griff. “There are written reports about the dragons?”

“Not by name or description,” Harry assured her. “We understand the best way to protect them is to make sure no one knows about them.”

He was a shorter man with a round face and cool, calculating grey eyes. Unlike Serjeant and Tristan, Harry dressed in somber clothes and his greying dark hair looked to be his natural color.

“Then why are we here?” Brienne demanded. “If you understand how important it is to keep them secret, why did we come back to Tyrosh?”

Griff sighed. “Wooden boats do not stand up well against dragonfire. We had to take the dragons off the ship while it’s being repaired. Even when the ship is fixed, we face the same problem. We need to give the dragons a home where they can roam free, remain concealed and not risk them burning us in our sleep.”

“How can Valyria be that place?” she demanded. “It’s full of disease and horrors; men made of stone, blood magic and boiling seas.”

“Not all of it,” Harry interjected quietly. “The east side of the ruined city is closer to Slaver’s Bay. We set up a post there. It’s been operational for almost two months. Griff anticipated you’d need a better hiding place after the first dragon attack.”

“The dragon did not attack the _Sea Keeper_. It only burned the pirate ships,” Brienne clarified. “It came to protect these five. The big dragon birthed them. They’re linked.”

“Let’s go over that again,” Harry requested. “Explain to me how five little dragons, just a month old at the time, were able to destroy three pirate ships.”

“They didn’t destroy the pirate ships. The big dragon did that,” Griff corrected. “We would have handled the pirates on our own, without its help.” 

“All the dragons did was light up their sails,” Tristan grumbled. “They did the work of a fallen candle.”

“Candles that knew to split up?” Serjeant snorted. “Candles that are ready now to burn us if we get too close to Brienne?”

“They think of her as their mother,” Griff said, his voice suddenly wary. “Their first instinct is always to protect her.”

“The dragon birthed these five but they believe Brienne is their mother.” Harry’s voice was suspiciously neutral. “She walked into the Disputed Lands with no protection and walked out with a score of slaver’s horses and five baby dragons. I think there are a few details missing in her story.”

Griff looked at her. Brienne took a deep breath. Griff hadn’t pressed her, even though he knew she hadn’t told him the full truth. It was as if they’d agreed to keep their secrets to themselves, existing a quiet, safe bubble separate from the world. But now the world had drawn them back. He had protected her without hesitation, guarded her dragons without complaint and accepted her more than any man she’d ever known. The dragons trusted him. Shouldn’t she?

“Three and half months ago, Joffery Baratheon was poisoned in King’s Landing.” She moved Serdun from her shoulder and placed the dragon on the table. “I was there to exchange Ser Jaime Lannister for Sansa and Arya Stark, the daughters of my Lady Catelyn Stark.”

“Wasn’t Sansa Stark married to Tyrion Lannister, the imp?” Harry asked.

Brienne blinked. How had Harry known that?

“Yes, but not willingly. She escaped Kings Landing during the confusion. I caught up with her sister Arya on the road to Gulltown but lost her. We, my squire Podrick and I, thought she might have taken a ship to Braavos. While in Braavos, we met a saltwater priest who told me to come to Tyrosh.” She nodded to the men. “That’s when we met Griff, Serjeant Loth and Tristan. They brought us to Tyrosh.”

“During which our crew engaged and slew pirates,” Serjeant added. “It was our first successful sea operation.”

Brienne nodded. “Once here, I met a Red Priestess who told me to ride into the Disputed Lands to find my guide.”

Griff spoke through clenched teeth. “Some strange woman, a priestess in a religion that practices human sacrifice, told you to go into lawless territory, without protection, and you went? Why did you do something so dangerous?”

“She knew about my sword.”

Griff stared down at _Oathkeeper_ , the lion pommel now once again displayed. “What about it?”

Brienne hesitated then continued. “She knew I carried a part of Ned Stark’s greatsword and she knew where the other part was, as well. It’s only right that Ned Stark’s sword be used to protect Ned Stark’s daughters.”

“Then what happened?” Harry asked.

“Griff arranged for me to use the company outposts until there were no more. Then I rode off by myself. I road for half a day before I saw a hill in the distance. It was the only oddness on the horizon so I decided to investigate it. Then…” She paused, sorting the events in her mind.

“Then what?” Serjeant prodded.

“The lions,” she murmured. “I’d forgotten about them. How could I forget them?”

“The Lannisters?” Harry repeated. “What about them?”

“No, not Lannisters, real lions,” she clarified. “I hadn’t seen anyone or anything for hours then I was attacked by a pride of lions.”

“What?” Griff turned sharply in his seat to stare at her. 

The dragons, who had relaxed their positions and appeared to be listening to her tale, squawked and flapped their wings. Harry and Serjeant leaned back in their chairs, as if trying to put more distance between themselves and a possible attack. It took a moment to calm the dragons enough for Brienne to continue.

“The lions attacked and maimed my horse. That’s when the dragon first protected me. It chased off the lions. But I was so scared at the time I crawled away from it.”

“Crawled?” Griff hissed.

“Yes, I was also injured by the lions. I crawled up the hill and found the cave. I passed out in the cave and had a fever dream.” She frowned. “Or I thought it was a fever dream. The first part was definitely a dream since I was swimming in Tarth. Then I was woken by the setting sun in the cave and the sound of horses. Slavers found me and tried to drag me out.”

“Yes, that makes sense.” Harry glanced at the relaxing dragons before easing his posture. “There are whole companies to investigate the grounds where the dragon lands. They would have shown up after a dragon sighting.”

“Yes.” Brienne nodded. “They laughed over me, pulled me up by my hair then the dragon was there again. It breathed fire into the cave and I closed my eyes. When I opened them, the men were gone and I was so weak. My clothes had burned off and my leg wasn’t bleeding anymore.”

Griff nodded. “Fire can close wounds. I’ve done that in battle. Fighters lose limbs so we burn the injury to stop the blood flow.”

Brienne nodded and looked at the dragons. “That’s when I first heard the dragons chirping. I thought I was still dreaming. But they were still there when I awoke the next morning.”

“Think carefully, Brienne,” Harry spoke. “Do you remember seeing any more dragon eggs?”

She shook her head. “I don’t recall seeing _any_ dragon eggs. I was bleeding and wounded. The cave was just dirt and rocks when I entered it and a black crystal when I left it, like the dirt and rocks had melted.”

“The dragonfire burned them,” Serjeant concluded. “Then what happened?”

“More men came the next morning, twice as many as the day before. I waited inside the cave so they’d have to come to me. I killed three of them before the dragon came to burn the others. I took their clothes, horses and weapons. I didn’t encounter anything on my way back so I knew the dragon was still protecting us. The rest you should already have in your reports.” 

She emphasized the last word, unsure how she felt knowing they’d been so closely monitored. Griff picked up on her discontent.

“Brienne, this is part of the reason we’re the greatest fighting force in the free world,” He said quietly. “We know information is a power. You can’t expect I would keep this from the people who are helping me protect you.”

Brienne nodded. It was unrealistic to think Griff wasn’t keeping the company informed. More than that, he was taking active steps to care for the dragons, trying to find ways to keep them all safe while keeping his promise to never chain them.

“We sent men to explore the area,” Harry reported. “The cave had been demolished. The men said it looked like giant claws had raked the hilltop to collapse it. Other teams had already started digging in the area. All they found was the remains of three men, two with their throats cut and the other with a torn chest.”

He paused to look at Brienne. She nodded.

“Our men stated the other teams found nothing. I’ve checked with our sources. There have been no whispers of new dragon eggs or new dragons. But sightings of the big dragon have become more frequent.” He paused to look at Griff. “And there have been more reports of trouble from Slaver’s Bay. The masters are taking back the cities the Dragon Queen conquered.”

Griff nodded. Brienne could almost see him thinking, adding this new information to the pieces he already had, shifting them into possible plans and strategies. 

“Are we done? Can I give her commission now?” Serjeant asked

“Commission?” Brienne asked. “What commission?”

Serjeant cleared his throat. “You’ve been working with us for three months now.”

She nodded. “Yes, because Griff and his crew have been protecting the dragons.”

“Aye,” Serjeant agreed. “You led our first successful sea attack, helped create our first offensive plan and fought bravely.”

“But foolishly,” Griff muttered, quietly enough for only Brienne to hear. 

“I’ve officially accepted you as an officer in my ranks.” Serjeant pulled out a scroll. “I know you’re used to being under Griff…”

Serjeant broke off as Tristan suddenly went into a coughing, choking fit, his face turning as red as his hair. They all, including the dragons, stared at him. Griff rose from his seat, leaned over the table and used the heel of his hand to hit Tristan in the forehead. 

Tristan howled in outrage as his head jerked back. “What did you do that for?”

“For your health,” Griff snarled. “You’re supposed to hit a man who’s choking.”

Tristan rubbed his reddening forehead. “Oye, you hit him in the back to force out what’s stuck in his throat.”

“You choked on air,” Griff snapped. “How else do I force out stupidity?” 

“Are you two finished?” Serjeant snapped.

Tristan caught the murderous glare in Griff’s eyes and nodded. The color faded from the big man’s face as his breathing eased. Griff sat back down. 

Serjeant watched them a few more seconds before passing the scroll down the table. “As I was saying, Brienne. You’re under Griff’s command but his name is not in our records. Your commission lists me as your commanding officer.”

Brienne unrolled the scroll with trembling hands. It was no jape. Her name was on an official commission with the _Golden Company_. Proof that she was wanted and truly belonged. She ran her fingers over the seal and traced over the neat, careful script. Suddenly the parchment blurred before her and she realized tears were in her eyes. She breathed deeply and blinked hard to keep them back.

“Welcome to the _Golden Company_ , Officer Tarth,” Harry said. “You hold the distinction of being our first female officer.”

“Aye, welcome Brienne,” Tristan echoed. “I hope we’ll soon get more officers like you.”

“Yes,” Griff agreed darkly. “More officers like Brienne and fewer men like you.”

“Are you sure? You can barely handle the one you got,” Tristan shot back. “Some men are not born to juggle.”

Griff flushed deeply red. “While you were always intended to be a jester.”

“I have more questions.” Harry spoke quietly but with authority. 

Griff and Tristan stopped glaring and smirking to pay attention to the exchange. The dragons, used to their barbs and sniping, began to wander along the table, closer to Harry and Serjeant. Then men both pressed their hands into the table, their postures stiff.

Brienne ignored Griff and Tristan to focus on Harry. “Yes, commander?”

“You said a saltwater priest directed you to Tyrosh. What could a priest of the Drowned God say to convince a woman who prays to the Seven to follow his advice?” Harry asked, looking down at his hands as Ardayn came closer. 

Brienne carefully rolled up the scroll, using the time to gather her thoughts. If she revealed that secret, it might endanger the dragons. By the same token, hiding the truth could create a gap in the company’s security, threatening all of them. She was an officer now. She couldn’t keep secrets that might endanger her company. 

“He said a great and terrible night would come soon and all, Gods and men, must work together to protect the people,” she admitted softly. “He gave me five prophecies. The first part had already come true.”

“A great and terrible night,” Griff repeated, his eyes narrowing. He tugged Ardayn back, away from Harry and Serjeant. “Something is coming, requiring all to bind together to battle it. Perhaps something that might require dragons to fight it?”

“What were the prophecies?” Serjeant interrupted.

“He said he saw a lion roar and a wolf escape it’s jaws. I took that to mean Lady Sansa’s escape from the Lannisters at King’s Landing. The second was a bird snatches up the wolf and dashes the wolf against icy, unyielding ground.”

“A bird?” Serjeant repeated. “What does that mean?”

“Oye, Griff, amaze us with the book learning you’re always doing,” Tristan said. “What houses have birds on their shields?”

“Shields?” Brienne stared at him.

“Aye, if the lion is for the Lannisters and the wolf is for the Starks, then the bird has got to be a house, right?” Tristan watched Brienne’s mouth round and grinned. “I figured out something you didn’t? Why are you wasting your time on the pretty boy when you can have the smart one?”

“House Erenford and House Mallister in the Riverlands,” Griff spat out. “House Arryn and House Corbray in Vale, house –”

“The Eyrie!” Brienne interrupted him. “That’s where they must be! Lady Catelyn’s sister was married to Jon Arryn, the former Hand to the King. I’ll find them there.”

“You may not,” Griff cautioned. “The prophecy says the bird will dash the wolf. They won’t be welcome there for long.”

Brienne paled. “The third says the wolf struggles against blood-red figures. I’ve met them while travelling down to King’s Landing. The flayed man is the sigil of the Boltons. They’re terrible men. I must save Lady Catelyn’s daughters!” 

She jumped out of her chair, startling the dragons, who rushed back to her defense. Her hands clenched into fists as she shuddered at the memories of Locke, her almost-rape, Jaime’s maiming and the bear pit. Her breath quickened into gasps.

“Brienne, calm yourself.” Griff grabbed her arm. “What did the last part of the prophecy say?” 

“A blue dragon who turns into a woman with blond hair and blue armor flies to the wolf. That must be me.” She looked at Griff. “Where is my blue armor?”

“I sent it to Tarth with Podrick.” Griff pulled on her arm. “Brienne, sit down. Calm yourself.”

“No.” Brienne shook off his hand. “How can I be calm? They’re monsters. Those girls will not survive if they fall into the Bolton’s hands.”

The dragons began to squawk and puff up, clear signs they’d picked up on Brienne’s distress. Harry and Serjeant leaned back in their seats as the dragons became more anxious. 

“Tristan, clear the room,” Griff ordered quietly. “Keep everyone out of here.”

Harry and Serjeant rose carefully, taking advantage of Tristan’s bulk to shield themselves from the dragons. Griff waited until the door shut behind them before he rose. 

“Brienne, you’re not thinking clearly. You cannot go back to Westeros,” Griff argued.

“I must,” she said simply. “Sansa and Arya Stark are in great danger. Most of their family has been killed. They have no home to shelter them, almost no one left to support them.”

“Then how will you protect them, even if you manage to find them?” Griff demanded.

“They have one remaining brother, far in the North, near the Wall. He’ll take care of them, if I can get the girls to him.”

“The Wall? Do you mean all the way up to Castle Black?” Griff stalked to the far end of the room. “Think about all you’re risking for two girls you don’t even know are still alive.”

“I was pledged to their mother.” Brienne’s jaw firmed. “I made a vow to Lady Catelyn that I would bring her daughters back to the North and ensure their safety.”

“Catelyn Stark is dead. Your vow died with her.”

“My vow continues until I have completed it.” Brienne’s hands curled into fists. “You convinced me you were a man of honor. You promised to protect me and the dragons. Will your vow end if I die? Will you turn your back on the five if I’m not with them?”

Griff stopped pacing to look at the dragons, who sat on the table, quietly observing as though following their conversation.

“No, of course not,” he assured her. “I promised to keep all of you safe. I’ll keep my word, no matter the cost.”

“You know honor isn’t something we have only when it’s convenient, Griff.” Brienne sat back down. “You believe being a king is a duty, not a right. Honor is a duty, too. It must be earned, not by comfort and convenience, but through sacrifice and commitment.” Sudden tears stung her eyes. She looked down at the table to hide them. “I’ve already left them alone too long. You cannot ask me to give up on Arya and Sansa Stark.”

Griff came closer to the table. “How long will you be gone?”

She was quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know. I’ll cross to Tarth to pick up my armor and Podrick. We’ll travel directly to the Eyrie. If all goes well, I can take the girls to Castle Black and return to Tyrosh in two months, perhaps three if we encounter problems along the way.” She put her hand on _Oathkeeper’_ s pommel. “I expect there might be trouble.”

“Three months.” Griff sat down beside her, his own head down. He frowned at her death grip on her sword. His body suddenly became rigid. “Brienne?”

“Yes?”

“You said you carry Ned Stark’s sword.” His voice was strangely soft, as if he was trying to pick his words carefully. “If so, why does it have a Lannister pommel?”

Brienne hand tightened on the sword sheathed at her hip. “Tywin Lannister was given _Ice_ when Ned Stark was beheaded. He had it melted down into two new swords. I carry Oathkeeper while the other portion was given to Joffery Baratheon.”

Griff was quiet for a moment. “Tywin Lannister didn’t give you this sword, did he?”

She forced herself to release the pommel. “No, Tywin gave it to Jaime Lannister. Ser Jaime gave it to me.”

Griff’s voice became suspiciously flat. “Jaime Lannister, the man you were to exchange for the Stark girls.”

Brienne took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“Jaime Lannister was the man who murdered my grandfather.” Griff still spoke with that odd, flat tone, still looked down at the table.

Brienne closed her eyes, an ache twisting around her heart. Griff was not a weak person, easily swayed by lies. He knew his grandfather had been a cruel, twisted man, bloated by power and maddened by suspicions. Griff wouldn’t take the truth personally; he’d use it to build a better future. She _believed_ in him.

“Griff, your grandfather became a terrible man.” She spoke as gently as he did, careful not to allow her words to cause harm. “Aerys ordered his pyromancers to destroy King’s Landing with wildfire. One million men, women and children would have died if Ser Jaime hadn’t stopped him.”

Griff shook his head, still not looking at Brienne. “Jaime Lannister stood by while his father’s men sacked King’s Landing and murdered my mother and sister.”

Killing a madman for the greater good was something Griff could understand. Killing a helpless woman and an innocent child; his own mother and sister; he could not. Brienne’s heart ached for him. The truth was painful but lies would bring him no comfort.

She put her hand on his arm. “Ser Jaime didn’t know that would happen. He wasn’t responsible for their deaths.”

Griff looked down at her hand. “Jaime Lannister is said to be the father of his sister’s children.”

Brienne nodded. “Yes, he is.”

“Jaime Lannister is known, even in Essos, as a man without honor, an oath breaker. Yet you carry his sword and speak of him with such ---” Griff broke off.

Brienne removed her hand and finally looked at Griff. His blue eyes had darkened to black; his jaw was tightly clenched and his hand was convulsively tightening on then releasing the pommel of _Firestorm_.

“With such what?” she asked softly.

“With such admiration,” Griff hissed. He turned to her. “Tell me honestly, Brienne. Are you in love with the Kingslayer?”

Brienne took a deep breath, so sharp it was a physical ache in her chest. She had to look away from Griff. Her blood pounded, the hated blush darkened her cheeks, even as a part of her closed down, to protect herself from the wash of emotions that threatened to drown her. He was just asking her for words. Words were wind, uttering them shouldn’t cause so much fear, shouldn’t make her body stiffen so much her muscles cramped from the pressure.

“What is love?” she asked quietly. “For me, it’s the connection I feel for someone who gives me respect, validation and comfort; who protects me even when it’s not easy; who rescues me when I cannot rescue myself; who makes sacrifices to ensure I survive. Someone I trust with my life. How can I not love a man who does those things for me?”

Her words hung heavily in the air, so brutally honest she feared suffocating under them. She had survived far more painful, even life-threatening, injuries but never had she left herself so open to the attack. She looked at him then, chin raised, prepared for whatever words, accusations or insults, he’d throw at her.

There were none. Griff was quiet for a long moment, eyes dilatated to almost black, considering what she has said. Even the dragons were quiet, as if they were also waiting for Griff’s response. Finally, he took a deep breath.

“Did Jaime Lannister do that for you?”

“He did.” Brienne began to stroke Gallan, its emerging scales rough and reassuring under her hand. “We were captured while on the way to King’s Landing. The men wanted to rape me but Ser Jaime convinced them my father would pay handsomely for my safe return. Until then he’d been my prisoner but he still protected me. That was when he lost his hand. They tortured him when they couldn’t torture me.”

The other dragons came closer, sensing her distress. Allwyn hopped into her lap while Catren sidled alongside Gallan, cleverly inserting itself under Brienne’s hand to be stroked. Brienne smiled at the dragon’s antics. Ardayn and Serdun chirped comfortingly. Brienne shifted Catren and Gallan to Griff so she could pull her most dedicated guards closer.

“He gave up his hand to protect you.” Griff’s voice had gone back to having no inflection as he pulled the dragons to him. “He saved you from rape.”

“He did more than that.” She paused as Allwyn flapped then settled into her lap. “Our captors took us to their lord, who released Ser Jaime but kept me. Once Ser Jaime realized they didn’t intend to send me to my father, he raced back to save me from a bear fight.”

“A bear fight?” Griff’s head jerked up. “Why were you fighting a bear?”

“It wasn’t by choice. Our captors threw me into a pit with a live bear. Ser Jaime came back and jumped into the pit. He refused to leave until they pulled me out first. I wouldn’t be alive today if Ser Jaime hadn’t come back for me.” She rested her hands on Ardayn and Serdun, their warmth an anchor against the chilling memories. “The dragons would not be here today if Ser Jaime had not saved me.”

Griff shook his head, absorbing the new information. “The man who killed a king who thought he’d be reborn as a dragon saved a woman who truly brought dragons into the world.”

Kinvara’s words about the fate of _Widow’s Wail_ , the other part of Ned Stark’s _Ice_ , rang in Brienne’s mind. 

_“Soon that part will be with Joffery’s true father, the Kingslayer, Jamie Lannister. This is also as intended. The Lord guides us all.”_

“It was meant to be, wasn’t it?” Brienne sighed, heavy pressure making her heart ache. “You, I, Ser Jaime, the Mad King and the dragons are all linked. There is a thread that connects us all, isn’t there?”

Griff nodded. “Man cannot understand the will of the Gods. He can only have faith and follow the path they lay before him.”

Her eyes widened. “You said that before, when I first brought the dragons to you.”

“Because it’s true.” Griff sighed. “Aerys was a false dragon who brought pain and destruction. You are a true dragon who has brought light to the world.”

Brienne paled. “That’s what Kinvara said to me.”

“Who?”

“The Red Priestess who directed me to the Disputed Lands.” Brienne rested her hands on Allwyn snuggled in her lap. “She called me the light in the darkness.”

“She was right.” Griff nodded. “I knew it the moment I met you. That was why I helped you, the first time we met on the dock. I could see the light inside you. It glowed out of your eyes. I knew there was something special about you, even then.”

Brienne looked at him. She studied his calm features and saw only truth shining in his deep blue eyes. The pressure in her heart increased. He meant it. He truly believed she had a place in the kingdom he wanted to create. She, Brienne of Tarth, the woman who had always been ridiculed for believing in knighthood and honor, _belonged_ in Griff’s new world order.

Still, a lifetime of conditioning could not be overcome in a moment. “I’m not a dragon. The ties that gave me dragon’s blood are not pure.”

“Bloodlines can be too pure, Brienne,” Griff insisted. “They say every time a Targaryen is born; the gods toss a coin and the world holds its breath. We have been spared that madness. The only way to avoid such weakness is to draw in other bloodlines.”

Brienne thought about his words. “Daenerys Targaryen is pure blooded.”

“So far, she’s shown mercy.” Griff paused. “There are stories of her crucifying and burning her enemies but she also liberated three slave cities, freeing the oppressed people.”

“Will she stay in Essos or do you think she’ll cross to Westeros?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “My plan was to visit the slave cities after we’d settled in Valyria. Perhaps meet with the Dragon Queen to determine if we could join forces.”

“Join forces! Griff, you cannot go near her. You’re a threat to her claim to the Iron Throne.” Brienne caught his arm. “Promise me you will not meet with her.”

“I don’t have to promise. You want to go back to Westeros. I need to work out a plan to protect you and the dragons while we’re there.” Griff watched Catren climb his arm to perch on his shoulder. “Westeros is dangerous for them, especially while they’re so young.”

The fierce pain in her heart nearly took her breath away. “We already have a plan. You’re taking them to Valyria.”

Griff froze. “You don’t want to keep them with you?”

“Of course, I want to.” Brienne blinked hard to hold back tears. “But I can’t. I have to find two frightened girls, convince them I mean them no harm and take them through snow and hostile lands to reunite them with their brother. I can’t protect them and the dragons at the same time.”

Griff was quiet for a long moment. “The dragons think of you as their mother. How can they be separated from you for three months?”

“They come to you as they come to me,” Brienne nodded to Catren on his shoulder and Gallan under his hand. “They listen to you as they listen to me. If they consider me their mother, who do you think you are to them?”

Griff closed his eyes but his mouth twisted, revealing how hard her words had hit him. “Fine, I’ll keep them safe until you return to us.” He opened his eyes. “When do you want to leave?”

She looked away. “I should leave as soon as possible.”

“Wait until tomorrow at least, at first light. Let us have a little more time.” His voice was thick, as though a heavy weight pressed upon his throat. “Give us one more night.”

The dragons gathered closer to her, perhaps sensing their time together would soon end. Allwyn burrowed deeper in her lap, its sharp little claws digging in, as if to hold Brienne in place. Brienne knew she couldn’t stay. The dragons were safe. Griff would keep them safe. No one but she would keep Catelyn Stark’s daughters safe. She would leave in the morning but she would spend one more night here, gathering memories to warm her through the cold nights ahead.

“Alright.” She had to swallow to clear her own throat. “One more night.”

Even as she uttered the words, she wished she could call them back. Not because she didn’t want the night but because she didn’t want the dawn. Tomorrow would bring pain, heartbreak and, when she was far enough away from Tyrosh, tears. 

Honor was earned by commitment and sacrifice. She had given Lady Catelyn her word and she would keep it. She wasn’t only the Gods’ warrior or a member of the _Golden Company_. She was also a knight. Through no one in Westeros would give her the credit, she knew it in her heart.

She knew she was a knight of the Seven Kingdoms. 

 

 

Translation:  
Ardayn, māzigon naejot issa (Ardayn, come to me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The show stole my thunder with knighting Brienne but, sadly, that’s all they got right for our favorite female warrior. Rest assured I have much grander plans for the Lady of Tarth. Her future has only started to unfold. 
> 
> Some final points to ponder:  
> Do you think Brienne made a good decision to leave the dragons with Griff?  
> What do you think of Griff’s plan to take the dragons to Valyria?  
> Hmm…what other characters are also supposed to be in Valyria at the same time?


	13. Dragonstone Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne clenched her jaw. Why couldn’t any of these people see beyond the end of their noses? Didn’t they understand there were greater forces at work than their own desires for crowns and thrones? All they wanted was to conquer. Did any of them think of the people and the lands that would be destroyed by their wars?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this chapter is so late. I had trouble motivating myself to write after the final episode. But I’m back in the groove. I’m posting an extra, extra long chapter to thank you for your patience. My wonderful betas (Winter1231505 and Comet69) were not available this week. Please let me know if I’ve made any glaring errors and I’ll be happy to fix them.
> 
>  
> 
> I’ve pulled or adapted specific lines from season 7, episode 5 to show where we are in the story. I didn’t feel the need to change any of Brienne’s actions while she was with Sansa. Brienne was focused on her oath to Lady Catelyn. She’s now been released of that oath and can focus on her own future.

### Chapter 13 – Dragonstone Keeper

Four months later…

“My Lady, Ser, I can hardly believe all you went through while in Essos,” Podrick looked at her with concern, perhaps searching for lasting effects of her time East.

He had been stoic and steadfast since she’d shown up in Tarth nearly four months earlier. Calmly accepting her refusal to talk about her time in Essos, Podrick had prepared for their journey north. Brienne had spared the evening to spend with her father then they’d left at first light to the Eyrie in their search for the Stark girls.

“Podrick, I’m sorry I kept all this from you until now,” Brienne said quietly.

She had wanted to tell him her secret many times over the past few months but hadn’t. She told herself it was because she had to stay focused on the search for the Stark girls, or because she didn’t want to risk exposing the dragons. Those were her excuses. She just hadn’t wanted to face the pain of her separation, preferring to bury it in duty and honor.

But now that duty had ended. Sansa had charged her with one more task on their way back to Tarth. Her insides tightened and she took a deep breath of the damp, salty air to ease the tension. In mere days, they would be back in Tyrosh, back with the _Golden Company_ and almost reunited with Griff and her dragons. The ache inside of her twisted and tightened.

“I understand, my Lady, Ser,” Podrick nodded, head lowered, deep in thought. “The only way to keep a secret is to forget you know it and never reveal it to anyone.”

“I couldn’t forget, Podrick,” Brienne admitted. “It was with me every day, every moment, but I could ignore it, focus on the goal before me.”

Brienne had used the long, quiet row boat ride from the mainland to tell Podrick about her time in the Disputed Lands and about the dragons. It seemed fitting to reveal the dragons while riding out to Dragonstone Island. It was also quiet and private. They had not seen a single person all morning. No doubt the dragon sightings had discouraged frequent visitors.

“But you’ve told me now.” Podrick stretched out his arms, working out the kinks from his turn at rowing. “Does that mean we’re going back to Essos?”

“Lady Sansa and Lady Arya are safe at Winterfell, now that the Boltons and their men have been defeated. They have many good men to protect them.” Brienne rowed their small boat with even strokes, watching the imposing castle of Dragonstone grow larger and larger before them.

Prodrick grinned, drawing her attention. “I don’t think they need good men. Lady Arya fought you to a draw when you two sparred in the training field.”

“She did indeed,” Brienne agreed.

The tiny warrior had surprised her with her speed, agility and cunning. What Arya Stark lacked in height, she made up for with determination.

“I didn’t say anything at the time but she sword fights like Griff does, doesn’t she?” Podrick noted.

Brienne nodded. “The water dance style is popular in Braavos. They need to be quick and light since they cannot wear heavy armor in the heat.”

Podrick grinned. “I’m looking forward to learning it. It will be a good compliment to the training you’re giving me.”

Brienne looked at Dragonstone looming closer and closer. The island and the castle were both dark and imposing but she could easily imagine the five little dragons here, dropping from the high cliffs, fishing in the Narrow Sea, flying over the open waters. But they wouldn’t be safe here, not while they were so young. Dragonstone was too close to the mainland and along the sea route to King’s Landing. Secrecy was their greatest protection. The world would go to war for them if they were discovered.

“My Lady, Ser?” Podrick broke into her thoughts. “I hope I didn’t offend you. Your instructions have been most helpful.”

“No, Podrick, you didn’t offend me.” She smiled at him. “You have been my loyal companion all these months. You’ve endured bitter cold, disappointment and battles with me. Now I plan to drag you to a foreign land. Are you sure you want to leave Westeros?”

He didn’t hesitate. “My place is at your side, my Lady, Ser.”

“We may not return for several years. The five are far too young to be exposed to the world.” She nodded to Dragonstone. “Once we deliver this information to King Jon, we’ll go on directly to Tarth, then Tyrosh.”

“What about the Night King and the army of the dead?” Podrick turned to also look at the castle. “King Jon said they’re the greatest threat the realm has ever known. Won’t they need our help? What about the five? Can’t they help?”

“The five are only seven months old. They cannot fight this war, not yet.” Her hands clenched on the oars at the thought of the small dragons forced into war. “The Wall has held the Night King’s forces back for centuries. Perhaps the five will play a part, but not anytime soon. Now that I’ve fulfilled my oath to Lady Catelyn, I must go back to help protect them.”

“I’m glad,” Podrick turned back to face her. “You were so much happier in Essos.”

She stared at him. “You saw me for less than a fortnight in Essos. How could you say I was happier?”

“You belonged,” he said simply. “I was there to see you after that first pirate battle, when you led the _Golden Company_ to victory. The sun didn’t glow as brightly as you did, my Lady, Ser.”

She could only look at him. Had she been so obvious? Was she unhappy in Westeros, where her height and strength made her stand out so much? She had never considered the fault might be in those who viewed her as different, rather than in _being_ different. 

Podrick smiled but it faded quickly. “Then, when you came back to Tarth, I could see something had changed in you. You had a warmth and an energy that has slowly frozen the longer we’re here. I didn’t realize how much being in Westeros demoralized you until you came back from Tyrosh.”

She frowned at him. “I’m not demoralized, I’m determined. I’ve honored my vow to Lady Catelyn. I stayed with Lady Sansa until she was in safe hands. There was much cause for worry, so many threats to the Starks; Littlefinger, the Boltons, Stannis Baratheon, the red woman and…” she trailed off.

“And Ser Jaime?” Podrick finished for her. “Is he a threat as well? I have never seen you as sad or as resigned as you were when we left the siege at Riverrun.”

Bienne looked away, her arms rowing methodically, her mind cast back to her meeting with Jaime. The way he had looked at her, the way her insides had tightened at their final words. 

_“Honor compels me to fight for Sansa’s kin… to fight you.”_

_She had seen how hard he had to swallow to force out the words. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”_

“My Lady, Ser, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask such a personal question. I know you and Ser Jaime are…” Podrick hesitated, “close.”

Close. Was such a small word adequate to explain the myriad of emotions she’d felt seeing Jaime again? To be in the same space as him, soak in his chiseled features, the age and strain cutting new lines in his face, without revealing the true challenges she’d faced? Did it describe her tangled emotions when she’s tried to return _Oathkeeper_ and he’d refused to take it? Was it enough to nurture the hope that what they didn’t say still communicated to the other?

_“It’s yours. It will always be yours.”_

“I tried to return _Oathkeeper_ to him since my purpose for having it was completed.” She glanced down at the sword’s pommel. “He refused to accept it. And…”

“And?” Podrick prodded gently.

“He was carrying _Widow’s Wail_.”

“ _Widow’s Wail_ , my Lady, Ser?”

“Do you remember the Red Priestess in Tyrosh? She told us that the other part of Ned Stark’s greatsword _Ice_ would soon be with Joffery’s father?” Brienne reminded him.

Podrick nodded. “Yes, she said it was intended. That the Lord of Light needed Ser Jaime to carry that sword.”

Brienne nodded. “He has it now.”

Podrick frowned. “Another puzzle piece fitted in place?”

“Yes, another puzzle piece. That’s my greatest worry, Podrick,” She looked around, at the vast expanse of water to their left and the mainland far in the distance to the right. “We are pieces in a puzzle I don’t understand. You and I are a part of it, Ser Jaime is a part of it, the five are a part and who knows who else. I feel so helpless not knowing what’s coming.”

“We know some things,” Podrick reminder her. “We know Cersei Lannister has allied with Euron Greyjoy and has hired the _Golden Company_.”

“True,” she agreed. “We’ll give this information to King Jon and let him decide how to use it. But remember, do not say a word about our time with the company. Any hint that could link us to them might endanger the five or the men protecting them.”

“I won’t say anything,” Podrick promised. “In truth, I think it might be good to be away from Westeros right now. Every piece of information we get is more frightening than the last.”

“Yes, it is,” Brienne agreed. “Daenerys Targaryen destroyed half of the crown’s army on the Gold Road, Cersei Lannister is barely holding the starving masses in King’s Landing, the North is on the verge of secession, Dorne is building up their forces, the Night King is building the army of the dead and now Cersei has hired the _Golden Company_.”

“The _Golden Company_ is known for never breaking their contract. Their motto is _our word is as good as gold_. Won’t it destroy their reputation to break their contract with Cersei?” Podrick asked.

Brienne smiled briefly. “Harry Strickland is skilled at wording contracts in the company’s favor. That’s why he’s the commander instead of one of the military leaders. Harry signed a contract with King’s Landing to commit the company to fight for the crown and true ruler of Westeros. Cersei Lannister signed and placed her seal on the contract but it doesn’t specify that she is the true ruler.”

Podrick blinked. “You’re saying the company works for the crown and not for Cersei? They’ll fight for whoever sits on the Iron Throne?”

“Exactly. King Jon may find that information very useful.”

“We knew the crown’s armies had been badly damaged by the dragon attack. It’s worse than we thought if she has to buy another army.” Podrick suddenly stiffened and looked around.

“She had already contracted with the company before the Gold Road attack. I think she planned to use the company to take back the lands the Dragon Queen has seized. The dragon attack was an event she didn’t anticipate and could not fight. No one can,” Brienne agreed. She’d seen the big dragon in action before. There was no possibility the Lannister men could have survived against it. “No one can win against a fully-grown dragon.”

Podrick went white. “I wish you hadn’t said that.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” She twisted to look around.

Podrick looked up. High up in the sky, so high they appeared to be smaller than birds, were three dragons. Brienne drew in her breath when the dragons streaked down from the sky. They roared with a fury that caused the water around them to ripple. Ahead of them, a group of armed men appeared on the beach near the landing site.

“My Lady, I hope the dragon remembers you fondly.” Podrick’s voice broke. “Otherwise, we may be in trouble.”

The dragons came closer. The big dragon was noticeably larger than the other two. Brienne recalled what Griff has said.

_“The kings feared they couldn’t control the dragons so they suppressed them, causing the dragons born to become smaller and weaker.”_

Had Daenerys Targaryen locked up the smaller dragons? Was that why the big dragon had been alone when she’d seen it in Essos? Did the Dragon Queen fear her own dragons?

Podrick huddled in his seat, trying to make himself a smaller target. The tide helped pull in their little boat to the water’s edge, where they were immediately surrounded by a dozen Dothraki fighters wielding large, curved blades. The two smaller dragons landed on the sharp cliffs above them while the big dragon came down to the beach. The dragons roared again, full-throated and dominant.

Podrick squeaked and tried to make himself smaller. The Dothraki didn’t seem bothered by the dragons, gesturing for Brienne and Podrick to get out of the boat. They moved slowly, conscious of the dragons observing them. The guards pulled Brienne out as easily as if she were a delicate lady and Podrick with even less effort. The guards dropped them to the wet sand and circled them, weapons drawn.

The large dragon roared again. Podrick curled into a ball and covered his head with his hands. Brienne wasn’t sure what to do. The dragon had saved her life many times, had saved the five, had _birthed_ the five. But she had left the little dragons with Griff. She knew from the carefully worded scrolls Griff sent that the big dragon had been to Valyria. Was it angry that she had seemingly turned away from her duty to the five? The dragon made a sound, more of a huff than a roar but remained calm. Brienne took a deep breath.

“Kirimvose.” She bowed deeply, lowering her head, exposing the vulnerable nape of her neck.

A long moment passed. Brienne looked up but remained in the deep bow. The dragon released a stream of warm air through its nostrils. The bloodriders were quiet, observing their interaction. Brienne straightened slowly. The dragon unfurled its wings and roared to the sky. The draft from its takeoff blew her hair straight back but Brienne did her best to hold her ground in the shifting wet sand.

The other dragons also took off and followed the big dragon. Brienne reached down to help Podrick to his feet.

“What… what did you say to it, my Lady, Ser?” Podrick was still sickly white but he stumbled forward when the guards prodded him.

“I thanked it.” Brienne fell in line behind Podrick, the guards surrounding them as they crossed the sand to the path leading to the castle.

“How do you plan to explain this to the Dragon Queen?” Podrick asked.

“I’ll tell her the truth,” Brienne muttered. “Well, some of it.”

 

 

“You stand before Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the First of her Name, Rightful Queen of Westeros, Rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains.” The lovely dark-skinned girl spoke with such conviction, her clear voice rang throughout in the hall.

Brienne and Podrick remained at the back of the room while a guard whispered to the tiny, pale woman seated on the throne. The room was large, lit with torches and ringed with both Unsullied and Dothraki guards. The throne was placed at the top of the steps, the small woman dwarfed by its commanding size.

“You may approach,” the Queen consented graciously.

Brienne glanced at Podrick then stepped forward. Up close, Daenerys Targaryen was even more beautiful than she’d been described. She was tiny and delicate, with thick, waist-long silver-blonde hair, enormous indigo eyes and perfect placed features that mimicked Griff’s startling beauty. Brienne had only seen Griff with blue hair, which made his eyes darken almost to black. The silver-blond hair would probably make his eyes as almost purple as the Dragon Queen’s. 

“My guards tell me Drogon came to greet you,” Daenerys looked them up and down. “Yet you stand before me, unharmed. Most curious.”

Light, rapid footsteps distracted Brienne before she could speak. She turned to watch Tyrion Lannister enter and hurry over.

“My apologies, my Queen,” Tyrion began then stopped. “Lady Brienne, why are you here?”

“I’m not sure,” Daenerys said drily. “She has not spoken.”

Brienne cleared her throat. “My apologies, your Grace. I am Brienne of Tarth and this is my squire, Podrick Payne. I’ve been sent by Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, with an urgent message for her brother, King Jon, the King in the North.”

“He is here,” Daenerys admitted. “I’ve given him permission to mine dragonglass. He tells me it is vital for a potential battle against the army of the dead, I believe he called it.”

Some of the tension Brienne had felt eased out of her. “Thank you, your Grace. The dragonglass will be a powerful weapon in the upcoming battle.”

“I take it Lady Sansa is well?” Tyrion asked quietly.

“She is now,” Brienne confirmed.

“Lord Tyrion, how do you know Lady Brienne?” Daenerys asked.

“She was in King’s Landing before my nephew, Joffery, was poisoned.” Tyrion looked past Brienne to Podrick. “Hello, Podrick, it’s good to see you again. I hope Lady Brienne has been treating you well.”

Podrick grinned and nodded. “Thank you, Lord Tyrion. She’s the most kind and honorable person I’ve ever met. I’m proud to be her squire.”

“Now that we have the polite greetings out of the way, what is the urgent message?” Daenerys asked.

“It’s information for King Jon, your Grace. I must present it to him and no other,” Brienne insisted. 

Daenerys frowned then turned to the woman beside her. “Missandei, have _Lord_ Jon brought here.”

The young queen put heavy emphasis on addressing Jon by the incorrect title. Brienne glanced at Tyrion. The Hand of the Queen frowned but did not contradict his queen.

“Yes, your Grace.” Missandei left the room with quick, quiet steps.

Daenerys looked back to Brienne. “Now, Lady Brienne, while we wait, perhaps you can tell me how you know Drogon.”

Tyrion gave a visible start. “She does?”

Brienne looked from one to the other. “I’m sorry, your Grace. I don’t know Drogon. Is he one of your guards?”

Daenerys smiled. “Drogon is the largest of my three dragons. My guards say he landed on the beach to greet you. You even spoke to him.”

This would be tricky. Brienne had gotten better at concealment since returning from Tyrosh but lying was far harder than evasion. She was no good at lying.

“Yes, your Grace. My High Valyrian is extremely limited. The dragon, Drogon, didn’t attack me or burn me. I could only thank him for that mercy.”

Daenerys frowned again, clearly unsatisfied with her response. Missandei returned with Jon, Davos and another man before Daenerys could question Brienne any further.

“Brienne, what’s wrong?” Jon hurried over to her. “Is Sansa well?”

“Yes, your Grace.” Brienne smiled, happy to give him good news. “Your sisters are both well.”

“Both?” The mixture of hope and confusion on Jon’s face hurt to see.

“Yes, both,” Brienne confirmed. “Lady Arya has returned, as has your brother, Bran. The wolves are regathering, your Grace.”

For a second, all expression left Jon’s face. Then he closed his eyes and lowered his head. “Bran, Arya. They’re back and they’re safe.” Jon looked up, his eyes suspiciously bright. “Thank you, Brienne. I’m grateful you came all this way to give me such wonderful news.”

“I have more news, your Grace, that may not be such glad tidings.” Brienne reached inside her jacket for the scroll. “This came for Ser Davos. Lady Sansa deemed it so important that she sent us here to deliver it.”

“For me?” Davos came to them. “What could be so important for me?”

This had been the hardest part. Griff had informed her upon learning of their new commission. They could be in Westeros, close enough to act when needed, all while hiding in plain sight. The _Golden Company_ could easily take King’s Landing anytime Griff deemed it appropriate, once they were within the city walls. Their army would tip any battle but nothing should connect the company to Griff or the dragons. They had to decide on the best way to pass along the necessary information without involving Brienne or the secrets they protected. 

“Do you know Tycho Nestoris, Ser Davos?” Brienne asked quietly.

Davos frowned then unwrapped the scroll. “Yes, he represents the Iron Bank of Braavos. Does he want ---” Davos broke off as he read the message.

“Well, what does he say?” Jon asked.

“An army of gold longs to be home. It works for a queen but prefers a dream.” Davos looked up from the scroll. “What does that mean?”

“May I see that?” Tyrion held out his hand.

Davos handed over the paper as the other man and Daenerys came to join them. Missandei stayed further back but still close enough to hear them. Tyrion studied the seal on the scroll.

“This is Nestoris’s seal and handwriting,” he confirmed. “I recognize it from when I was the Master of Coins in King’s Landing.”

“The army of gold is already home,” Davos said. “The Iron Bank has the largest supply of gold in the known world. Do they expect me to repay an outstanding loan?”

Brienne closed her eyes. She had already brought them the message. Did she now have to help them understand it? Could she guide them without revealing her true connection to the _Golden Company_?

“That is not the army of gold,” the other man said quietly. “I believe he is referring to the _Golden Company_.”

Daenerys bent down to read the scroll over her Hand’s shoulder. She was so tiny she didn’t have to bend very far. She straightened to address the man.

“Ser Jorah, you were a member of the _Golden Company_ ,” she said. “Do you understand what this message means?”

Brienne stiffened. Did Ser Jorah know Griff? Did Daenerys already know there was a rival with a better claim to the Iron Throne currently amassing armies and allies?

“Aye, Khaleesi, a lifetime ago, long before I came into your service.” Jorah looked at Tyrion. “We met a group of their men while I was escorting Lord Tyrion through the ruins of Valyria.”

“Escorting,” Tyrion snorted. “You mean kidnapping.”

“ _I_ was escorting you. The pirates we met kidnapped us both.” Jorah glared at Tyrion. “You were so sick from lack of drink you didn’t know the sky from the ground. You were imagining pink elephants and ice spiders.”

“I saw stone men. They were real.” Tyrion put his hand to the back of his head. “I still get pains from where they hit me.”

“You were out of your senses for days after,” Jorah said. “If the _Golden Company_ hadn’t saved us, we would have died at the hands of those stone men.”

Tyrion frowned. “So, I didn’t really see Rhaegar fighting on the cliffs above us?”

It took all of Brienne’s self-control not to react. She glanced over at Podrick. Her squire had his head down, looking meek and submissive, but also cleverly hiding his expression. She looked at the others to gauge their reactions. They were all looking at Tyrion with blank confusion.

“My brother has been dead for longer than I’ve been alive, Lord Tyrion.” Daenerys’s voice was cold. “You must have been very sick indeed.”

“I was also injured, your Grace.” Tyrion defended himself. “Why else would I have pictured Rhaegar as a young man? Although I don’t know why I imagined him with blue hair.”

“Are you in your cups now, Lord Tyrion?” Daenerys demanded.

“No, my Queen,” he responded. “I am quite sober. Ser Jorah, what do you think this means?”

“The _Golden Company_ took us through the ruins of Valyria while Lord Tyrion recovered. Many of the men are descendants of exiled Westerosi lords. They spoke of regaining their lost lands and titles,” Jorah paused. “Once a Targaryen led them back to Westeros.”

Daenerys’s eyes widened. “Ser Jorah, how many men are in the _Golden Company_?” 

“At last count? I would estimate ten thousand soldiers with ten thousand squires who are almost good enough to be officers.”

“Will they fight for me?” Daenerys demanded.

Jorah frowned for a moment. “I believe they will fight for home.”

Daenerys nodded. “Then I will welcome them and restore their lost heritages when they help me take back the Iron Throne.”

Brienne clenched her jaw. Why couldn’t any of these people see beyond the end of their noses? Didn’t they understand there were greater forces at work than their own desires for crowns and thrones? All they wanted was to conquer. Did any of them think of the people and the lands that would be destroyed by their wars? She looked over at Jon, who was frowning at them.

“Your Grace.” Brienne turned to Jon. “There is a second line to that message. Perhaps that is of importance, as well?”

Jon nodded. “Aye, it is. Brienne is right. The message says the army is already working for a queen. If that isn’t you, then who is it?”

“Cersei,” Daenerys spat out. “She is the only other queen. Yara Greyjoy was captured, perhaps killed, when Euron ambushed the Iron Fleet.”

“That means my sister doesn’t have the forces to counter-attack you at this time,” Tyrion noted. “Her army has been decimated and the _Golden Company_ is not yet here.”

“What is there to counter-attack?” Daenerys snapped. “We have already lost the Iron Fleet and Highgarden. Casterly Rock is of little value. Dorne has backed off from our alliance without Ellaria Sands. Now your sister is fortifying her forces with an outside army.”

“Is that all you can think of?” Jon demanded. “Lost castles, armies and alliances? I’ve already told you the true threat is north of the Wall. The army of the dead grows by the day. I showed you the drawings in the caves. We must put aside our petty squabbles and band together to fight for the living. That is the only war that matters.”

Daenerys turned to him. “If that is the only war that matters to you, then you should be eager to bend the knee to a queen who can so easily win your war.”

“Easily?” Jon didn’t try to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

Daenerys stepped closer to him. “You seem to have forgotten I have three very large dragons. I’ve been advised not to take them directly to the Red Keep and burn Cersei where she stands.”

Tyrion sighed, as if this was common argument. “You do not want to be the Queen of Ashes, your Grace. If your dragons fired on King’s Landing, or even just the Red Keep, hundreds would die in the destruction. You would be as hated as my sister. Worse, you would also be seen as a foreign invader. Cersei maybe evil, but she is an evil they know.”

“But you have no complaint if I destroy this so-called Night King?” Daenerys demanded. “I can show the people of the North I’m a capable queen. I’ll slay their demon and protect their lands.”

“It will help,” Tyrion agreed. “The North will see you came to their aid in their time of need.”

Daenerys nodded. “So then, I fly my dragons north of the Wall, reduce this Night King’s army to water, the way I reduced Cersei’s army to ashes.”

Jon and Davos exchanged glances.

“It won’t be that easy, your Grace,” Jon cautioned.

Daenerys frowned. “Do not tell me a creature made of ice can withstand dragonfire.”

“We don’t know what will or will not kill the Night King,” Jon explained quietly. “We know its army can be destroyed by fire, dragonglass and Valyrian steel. We should take a team north of the wall to gather more information.”

“I don’t need information,” Daenerys snapped. “I have dragons. Even if I don’t destroy this king, I’ll destroy his armies so he, like Cersei, will be forced to start anew. Then you will be at my side when we go to King’s Landing, clear proof the North supports their true queen. I will not be seen as a foreign invader if half of Westeros supports my claim.”

“Half?” Jon repeated.

“The Riverlands, Stormlands, Westerlands and the Reach have no leaders and Dorne will not commit. Cersei only holds King’s Landing and has a single ally with Euron Greyjoy,” Tyrion pointed out. “You hold the North while Littlefinger holds the Vale. It would be a simple matter for the North to take the Riverlands. And from there, King’s Landing.”

“Yes,” Daenerys nodded in agreement. “Since I should not simply fly in and seize my throne, I will walk through the front gates with the northern armies at my back.”

Brienne gritted her teeth to keep from speaking out. Just when Daenerys seemed to grasp the enormity of what laid beyond the wall, she reverted back to conquest. King Jon was trying to focus on the people while the Dragon Queen only saw the Night King as a stepping stone to the Iron Throne. Her Hand was no better. Tyrion only channeled her ambitions when he should be helping her control them.

“And what of the North?” Jon demanded. “We have fought too hard, sacrificed too much to be held under the thumb of another autocratic ruler.”

“Our queen is not an autocratic ruler,” Missandei interjected quietly. She walked closer to the group. “She is the kindest and most just person I know. Before she freed me, I’d lived almost my entire life under the thumb, or rather the fist and lash, of truly vicious rulers.”

There was silence as everyone turned to her. Missandei came to Daenerys’s side and took her queen’s hand in both of hers. Brienne stared at their joined hands. She had never seen an advisor, no matter how well-favored, boldly touch a royal without invitation. 

“I know what it is to have no voice, no control and even no food or water if my master wished it.” Missandei’s voice broke and her hands tightened visibly.

Daenerys covered Missandei’s hand with her free hand, rubbing comfortingly. “Missandei,” she said gently, “you don’t have to defend me.”

“But I wish to and I will.” Missandei’s voice suddenly strengthened. “I am free to do so and I will have my say.” Her deep brown eyes flashed with conviction, bright with unshed tears. “Daenerys Stormborn has never raised a hand against the powerless, has never taken from those who had nothing, has never attempted to enslave or enforce her will. She has earned her title as the Breaker of Chains and my trust by protecting those who had no one else to protect them.”

Missandei looked directly at Jon. “I serve my queen of my own _free_ will, because she is a good and generous person. She is no tyrant.”

Daenerys stopped rubbing Missandei’s hand and grasped her arm, drawing the other woman closer. Brienne blinked. Rarely has she seen a queen so tactile with her subjects or even her ladies. Cersei probably wouldn’t know how to. Only Queen Margaery, gracious and well-loved, had offered her hand to the people who served her. Daenerys comforted her people, held them as though they were dear to her. Perhaps they were.

The men around them looked at the floor and shuffled uncomfortably, unused to such emotional displays. Brienne frowned at them. Were they so hardened that genuine emotion was something they feared or didn’t understand? How could they hope to rule Westeros if they didn’t see their people’s pain and work to alleviate their sufferings? 

Finally, Davos cleared his throat. “Be that as it may, you’re making this too simple, your Grace. This creature, the Night King, is thousands of years old. It’s made of ice and magic, not flesh and blood.”

Daenerys whispered something to Missandei. Her advisor nodded and stepped back, still part of their circle but allowing her queen to regain their attention. 

“Ser Davos, my dragons are made of fire and magic,” Daenerys pointed out. “They may not be old but they are powerful.” She turned to Jon. “Lord Jon, bend the knee to me and I will destroy your enemy. In turn, you will help me destroy mine.”

“And if you don’t?” Jon challenged. “If you go north of the Wall and are unable to defeat the Night King? Then what? We’ll be right back where we are now. We need to parlay with Cersei, bring in her army, the Iron Fleet and even the _Golden Company_ , whichever queen they serve.”

The two glared at each other. Jorah and Davos exchanged concerned glances but said nothing. Podrick looked to Brienne for direction. She remained quiet, observing the two rulers. Could they find a compromise? How would that compromise affect Griff and the _Golden Company_? What was her next step if they didn’t come together? 

“What if we do both?” Tyrion suggested. “Our queen goes north with Jon, destroys this army or observes this army, if it cannot be fully destroyed.”

Jon gave him a frustrated glare. Tyrion held up both hands in a placating gesture.

“While you are up North, I will go to King’s Landing to set up a parlay with my sister.”

Daenerys now glared at him. “How will you do so? She’ll have you killed on sight.”

“I’ll smuggle him in, your Grace,” Davos offered. He looked at Tyrion. “But if the Gold Cloaks were to recognize you, I’m warning you. I’m not a fighter.”

“And then what?” Daenerys demanded. “Will Cersei welcome the brother who murdered their father into her chambers? Will she listen to what you have to say? I think not.”

“The only one she listens to is Jaime,” Tyrion sighed. “He might listen to me.”

Brienne stiffened and glanced over at Podrick. Her squire had lowered his head again, hiding his expression. Jaime had a role in the Gods’ plans. He now carried _Widow’s Wail_ , a weapon so important, the Lord of Light had shown it to his High Priestess. Would Jaime join their cause? What was his role in the events to come?

“Will your brother talk to you?” Jon demanded, drawing Brienne back to their conversation. 

Tyrion nodded. “He might. I think I know a way to at least meet with him.”

“I don’t agree with this,” Daenerys snapped. “I won’t allow it. You’re considered a traitor to your family. I won’t risk losing my Hand to my enemies.” 

“My Queen, you must meet with her in either case,” he insisted. “You will inform Cersei you know how weak her forces are and that you already hold the North. She will see the size of your armies, if not, my brother will. He will not allow his men to fight a battle against an army four times their size.”

Daenerys smiled, clearly liking his plan. Jon shifted from foot to foot. Tyrion nodded to him.

“If, on the other hand, you’re unable to defeat this Night King.” Daenerys sniffed but Tyrion continued. “You’ll inform Cersei of the greater threat of this Night King, provide her with proof of how dangerous he is. She believes he’s just a story created by wet nurses to frighten children. Either way, you’ll go into the parlay in a stronger position than you are now.”

“My position is only stronger if I do hold the North,” Daenerys pointed it. She turned to Jon. “Will you join me, King Jon? Will you bend the knee if I destroy this Night King for the North? As I asked you in the caves, isn’t the survival of your people worth your pride?”

Jon paused for a long moment, then looked at Davos. Davos sighed heavily and dropped his head. Jon looked to Brienne. She tried to keep her expression as neutral as possible. Could King Jon bend the knee? Could the Night King be defeated so easily? Was all this worry and concern unwarranted?

Finally, Jon nodded. “The safety of my people must be my first priority. If you dragons can spare their lives, they and I will be grateful. Aye, _if_ you destroy the Night King, the North will accept you as their queen.”

 

Translations:  
Kirimvose (thank you)


	14. Lineage Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pain in Brienne’s heart bloomed to fill her whole chest. Had she been wrong? Had she made a mistake to come back to Westeros to protect Sansa? Had she chosen to honor the wrong vow? Should she have stayed with the dragons, spared them the fear and confusion of losing their keeper?

### Chapter 14 – Lineage Keeper

“I wish you could stay longer, daughter,” Selwyn Tarth said.

Brienne smiled up at her father. For most of her life, he’s been the tallest man she’d known. Once she left Tarth, she’d seen men as tall or even taller but as a child, her father had stood larger than life. He was still tall, now with grey in his dark blond hair and more lines on his face than she remembered, but her height made him less imposing. Or maybe it was looking into her own blue eyes, seeing the steady warmth in them.

“I do too, Father, but I have a duty to perform,” Brienne said quietly. “I must return to Tyrosh.”

“What about your duty to House Tarth?” Selwyn asked. “You are the future of this family and this island. You know you must provide an heir.”

Brienne smiled to herself. She and her father had walked past the courtyard of Evenfall Hall, into the cool groves around the hall. What would her father say if she told him he already had five heirs? Five strong, young dragons that would soon join the world, able to protect not only Tarth, but all of Westeros. 

“I know, Father. Please understand, I have already vowed to perform this last service,” she explained. “You always told me honor, duty and service are the cornerstones of good leadership. How would I face the people of Tarth and, more importantly, you if I failed to follow your teachings?”

“One last service?” he questioned. “Then you will return to Tarth and focus on the future of our people?”

“Yes, Father, one last service then I will return,” Brienne promised.

The dragons would enjoy Tarth. It had high cliffs like Dragonstone, plentiful fish and swimming but Tarth also had wild game and grassy valleys. Tarth would no longer be a pirate target once it became known dragons guarded its shores. The people would be safe, the island would be safe and the dragons would be big enough to defend themselves. She looked up, picturing the five soaring through the skies, darting through the trees and playing in the sunshine.

A bright streak of silver caught her eye. “What’s that?”

Selwyn turned his head to follow her gaze. “I don’t believe it. The silver eagles have returned.”

“Silver eagles?” Brienne shaded her eyes with her hand. “I don’t recall ever seeing silver eagles in Tarth.”

“It’s been a long time since they were last here. The last time I recall seeing them was before we lost your mother.” Selwyn’s voice was heavy with remembered pain.

Brienne froze, her mind going back to her dream in the dragon’s cave. _A shriek pierced the air. An eagle appeared out of the shadow of the dragon, its silver feathers brilliant in the moonlight, its wingspan enormous and its claws razor sharp._

“Father, when did the silver eagles first appear in Tarth? Was it during my life?” she asked.

Selwyn thought. “Yes, it was. I remember you were in your mother’s arms, not yet walking, when she called me to see them.” Haunting sadness pulled at the corners of his mouth. “She was so excited. She said the eagles had come to meet you because House Mallister was as much her children’s blood as House Tarth.”

Brienne held her breath as her mind replayed the conversation in the Golden Company’s office. 

_“Oye, Griff, amaze us with the book learning you’re always doing,” Tristan had said. “What houses have birds on their shields?”_

__

_“House Erenford and House Mallister in the Riverlands…”_

__

“Father,” Brienne kept her voice soft to hide the shakiness. “Is the silver eagle the sigil for House Mallister?”

“Yes, a silver eagle on an indigo plate,” Selwyn answered, his attention still on the eagle. “Look, there’s a nest. The silver eagles are roosting in Tarth again. Your mother would be so happy to see them.”

“Perhaps she does, wherever she is now,” Brienne said softly.

Selwyn smiled sadly. “I hope so.”

They began to walk back to Evenfall Hall. 

“I barely remember what Mother looked like. I remember she was soft and spoke so sweetly,” Brienne recalled. “I think she had blonder hair than me and different eyes.”

“Yes, your hair is golden blonde while her hair was silver blond and her eyes were a darker blue. Her hair color was almost the same silver as the eagles.” Selwyn’s smile became brighter. “You have my eyes and your hair color matches Allyna’s mother.”

“My grandmother had my hair color?” Brienne clarified. “What about grandfather? Was he also fair?”

“No, he wasn’t. He had dark hair and dark eyes. It’s surprising your mother was so fair when the rest of the Mallister family has dark coloring,” Selwyn commented innocently.

Brienne took a deep breath to steady her voice. “Perhaps there was another in Mother’s lineage who had fair coloring.”

Such as the Mad King, known for his many bastards. A secret dragon had been hidden in House Mallister. Brienne’s grandmother had passed Aerys’s bastard, Allyna, as her husband’s child, much as Cersei had passed Jamie’s bastards as Robert’s children. She, Brienne of Tarth, was the granddaughter of the Mad King.

“My Lady! My Lord!” Podrick came racing up the path.

Brienne hurried her pace to meet him. “Podrick, what’s wrong?”

He held out a scroll, gasping for breath. “Terrible news… from Dragonstone.”

Brienne snatched up the scroll. Her father leaned over her shoulder.

_The Night King was not defeated. Viserion was lost in battle. Parlay must occur. Please return to Dragonstone immediately._

“Viserion?” Brienne gasped. “Viserion the dragon? The Night King defeated a dragon? He _killed_ a dragon?”

“How does one kill a grown dragon?” Selwyn asked. 

“I don’t know but we must find out.” Brienne turned to Selwyn. “Father, may we have one of your ships to sail to Dragonstone?” 

“But don’t you need to go to Tyrosh?” Selwyn asked. “What about your one last service?”

“I will fulfill that service,” Brienne promised. “But I must go to Dragonstone first. We must meet with King Jon.”

 

Dragonstone was much as Brienne remembered it, dark and imposing. But now there was a heavy gloom over the island. Even the dragons weren’t in flight. They docked on the harbor with minimum fuss. The Dothraki came to greet them but gave them no trouble. They worked quietly and efficiently, unloading the supplies Selwyn had so graciously brought with them. Brienne, Podrick and Selwyn were as quiet as the guards as they trudged up to the castle. 

The gloom was even heavier inside the castle. Instead of the throne room, they were taken to a meeting room with a large table depicting Westeros dominating the space. Tyrion, Jon, Davos, Jorah and Varys sat in the room. They rose when Brienne’s introduced them to her father.

“Welcome, Lord Selwyn,” Jon said. “Thank you for bringing supplies. It was most generous of you.”

“My daughter had sworn herself to your family,” Selwyn said. “You gave her the opportunity to serve. I thank you for seeing the greatness in her as I do, your Grace.”

Jon shook his head. “You owe me no thanks, my Lord. In truth, my family is deeply indebted to your daughter. Rest assured, should she ever require it, House Stark stands at her back.”

Selwyn blinked. “Thank… thank you, your Grace. I didn’t realize my daughter provided such a great service.”

“She did indeed,” Jon smiled at Brienne. “You should be proud of her, my Lord. She is one of the finest and most honorable warriors I’ve ever know.”

Selwyn smiled. “I am.”

Brienne tried to accept the praise but it was impossible for her focus on anything but King Jon’s message.

“Your Grace, what happened?” she demanded. “Is it true the Night King killed Viserion? He killed a dragon?”

Jon nodded soberly. “Yes. Ser Jorah and I led a group of one hundred men north of the wall with Queen Daenerys. It didn’t take long for her to find the Night King’s army. At first it seemed she was right and would easily defeat the army of the dead. The dragons destroyed Wights by the hundreds.”

“Then the White Walkers came and we engaged them.” Jorah took up the story. “King Jon killed a White Walker. Immediately after, a whole group of the dead shattered.”

“We think that means destroying a White Walker destroys the dead it raised.” Tyrion spoke. 

“There was no time to test that theory,” Jorah continued. “We fought the dead around us and Khaleesi destroyed them from the skies. Fire burned the dead, dragonglass and our Valyrian steel caused them to shatter. We also confirmed they can’t swim because those who fell through the ice did not return. Only King Jon was able to get close enough to kill a White Walker. Then the Night King road into the battle.”

The men fell silent. Brienne looked around. “What happened?”

“Khaleesi saw the Night King and led her dragons to him.” Johan rubbed his hand over his face, looking older and tired.

“Dragonfire didn’t kill the White Walkers or the Night King,” Jon announced. 

“Are you saying the Night King and his generals are immune to dragonfire?” Brienne clarified. 

Tyrion nodded sadly. “Yes.”

“Then what?” Brienne demanded. “Did you retreat?”

“Not then,” Jorah said. “Khaleesi and her dragons continued to rain fire on the dead while we tried to get closer to the Night King and his generals. Valyrian steel killed a White Walker so it might also kill the Night King. We knew we had to decimate as much of his army as we could. There were thousands upon thousands of them. We would never again have the chance for a surprise attack.”

“What about Viserion? How did you lose Viserion?” Brienne tried to keep her voice even, not let panic come through in tone or actions.

“Between the men on the ground and the dragons in the air, we had cut down the Night King’s forces to less than half,” Jon spoke. “Then the Night King threw a spear at Viserion. His strength was greater than any man and his throw was so strong, it pierced the dragon’s neck. The dragon fell from the sky, bleeding heavily, then sunk into the waters when it broke through the ice.”

“We did capture one of the creatures,” Jorah said. “It ---"

“A creature for my child.” A voice broke in from behind them.

They all turned to look. Daenerys stood in the doorway, Missandei at her side. The Queen was neatly dressed and coiffed but there were dark circles under her eyes and her face was colorless. 

“I sacrificed my child for a creature.” Daenerys came into the room.

Jorah sprang up and guided her to a chair. “Khaleesi, you did not know what would happen.”

“But I had been warned.” Her voice was thick and scratchy. “King Jon and Ser Davos warned me. I, in my hubris, thought I was unstoppable. I thought my dragons made me invincible. My dragons had always been my strength, the greatest force in the world. I never thought to act with caution, never believed there were things in this world more powerful than my children.” She picked up a carved dragon piece from the table in front of her. “I’ve lost Viserion because I didn’t think to protect my child.”

She hugged the carving to her breast then suddenly threw it against the wall. The carving broke into small pieces. Daenerys sucked in a deep, sobbing breath.

“What am I without my children?” she demanded. “They are all I am.”

“They are not all you are, Khaleesi,” Jorah insisted. “Were your dragons at your side when you went to Vaes Dothrak? You entered the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen with no dragons, no army, no advisors and emerged the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. You are Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. You have overcome too much to doubt yourself now.”

A heavy silence settled over the room as Daenerys looked at her advisor, color returning to her cheeks and lips. Her chin firmed and she nodded. The sadness, however, still darkened her eyes.

“Even so, how could I have been so arrogant to attack this enemy without preparation?” Her voice was calmer, more composed, but still heavy with sadness.

“Your Grace, you weren’t arrogant,” Missandei insisted. “You were honoring your pledge to help the North fight this terrible threat. No one knew how strong this Night King would be or the magic it held. You cannot blame yourself.”

“But I do,” Daenerys began when a terrible screeching drowned her out.

“What is it?” Jon looked around, his hand on his sword.

Missandei’s eyes widened as she listened to the shouting from the hall. “It’s the dragons, your Grace. They’re under attack!”

Daenerys’s cry was half rage, half despair. She darted out into the hallway towards the main doors, ignoring her advisors’ pleas to come back, stay safely out of the conflict. They followed as she raced outside, her guards swarming around her. They all gathered in the stone courtyard and looked to the sky.

The display of dragonfire was spectacular. Drogon and Rhaegal unleashed streams of fire as they circled the five smaller dragons. The five fired back, their fire power only a fraction of the bigger dragons’ but their larger number allowing them to hold their own. Drogon stopped firing and butted the little dragon closest, sending it higher in the air.

“No!” Brienne fought to break out of the crush of people. 

Where she was going, she didn’t know. Her only thought was to help her dragons. Why were they here? They were supposed to be in Valyria with Griff, safe from threats such as the Night King and the wars of men. Why were Drogon and Rhaegal attacking the five? The big dragon had birthed the little dragons. They were kin. Could a dragon turn on its own, a parent killing their own child? 

“More dragons?” Daenerys gasped. 

“Your Grace, they’re not attacking,” Missandei cried. “They’re playing.”

Brienne stopped struggling to look. It was true. Now Rhaegal also butted the smaller dragons around. The five allowed the bigger dragons to toss them then came back for more. One even landed on Drogon’s back, rolled and dove back into the tussle.

“Where did they come from?” Daenerys spoke Brienne’s thoughts aloud. 

Brienne looked at the Dragon Queen. Some of the grief had eased out of her face as awe replaced it. As she watched, tears leaked out of the Daenerys’s eyes. 

Secrecy was the dragons’ greatest defense. But they, or the Gods, had decided to present them to the world and the only other person who had dragons. They were up in the air, over Dragonstone, for all to see. A sharp pang ached inside Brienne’s heart. The five were now exposed and more vulnerable than ever. How could she protect them without Griff and his army? Would the Dragon Queen protect the five or try to seize them? 

The ache in Brienne’s heart deepened. Would the dragons remember her? Were they angry with her for leaving them? There had been no way to explain to them why she’d left. Did they think she’d abandoned them? Or did they miss her? Her heart beat faster as she continued to push forward. Were they here because they _wanted_ to be with her? Could their instinct have guided them back to her? She finally fought her way out of the crowd, to the far side of the courtyard. 

She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa!”

Everyone turned to stare at her. Her focus was still on the five, ignoring the array of shocked and awed faces around her. The five were too far away. There was no way they could hear her, could they? Miraculously, the five pulled away from their play and began circling, as if they were trying to locate something. Brienne held her breath.

Then the little dragons turned from the bigger dragons and streaked towards the ground. The guards tightened their ring around their queen, pulling out their weapons. Jon, Jorah, Davos and even Podrick and Selwyn took out their swords.

“No!” Brienne cried. “Put away your weapons! They won’t attack you. _Please_!” She turned pleading eyes to Daenerys and Jon. “Please, your Graces. I know them. I give you my word they won’t attack.”

Selwyn and Podrick put away their swords. Jon and Davos followed their example a beat later. Jorah turned to his queen. Daenerys looked from Brienne to the dragons racing down at them then back to Brienne. 

“Put down your weapons!” The queen ordered.

Missandei echoed her queen’s command in several languages. The guards obeyed but remained tightly grouped around Daenerys. Everyone watched, wide-eyed as the dragons landed, one by one. Gallan landed first and, in an uncharacteristic action, threw itself at Brienne. Allwyn came next, squawking and flapping its wings in the way that was well in character, fighting for place beside Gallan in Brienne’s arms.

The dragons had grown significantly, to more than double the size of when she’d seen them last. They were so strong now each hot body hitting her sent Brienne back a step, so by the time Catren barreled into her, she was forced to sit hard on the ground. Serdun and Ardayn came up behind her, rubbing against her back. 

The five circled around her and squawked loudly, fighting for Brienne’s attention and caresses. She rose to her knees and turned in a circle, hugging and greeting each by name. They looked like proper dragons now, with fully defined scales and spikes. Their bodies were the size of dogs, their wings and tails twice that, their heads coming to Brienne’s shoulders as she knelt before them. 

Drogon and Rhaegal roared as they landed on the cliffs overlooking the beach, close enough to watch but far enough away to reassure the men unused to dragons. A hush fell over the courtyard as Brienne finally calmed the five. She couldn’t rise, as they pressed against her when she tried to get up, as if fearing she would leave them again. 

Tears filled her eyes as she rested her forehead against Allwyn’s neck. The five hadn’t forgotten her. Her dragons had crossed two seas and an entire country to return to her. Who or what had guided them? Was Griff now frantically searching for them? Would he come to Westeros and risk revealing himself too soon?

Her thoughts were interrupted when Daenerys crossed the courtyard to them. The clicking of the queen’s boot steps sounded abnormally loud in the silent courtyard. 

“Lady Brienne,” Daenerys said, her voice now strong and steady. “I believe you have a story to share with us.”

Brienne nodded and tried to get up. The dragons squawked and even yelped, tightening around her, encasing her in their hot, rough bodies. The pain in Brienne’s heart bloomed to fill her whole chest. Had she been wrong? Had she made a mistake to come back to Westeros to protect Sansa? Had she chosen to honor the wrong vow? Should she have stayed with the dragons, spared them the fear and confusion of losing their keeper? They were strong and healthy so clearly Griff had taken good care of them but she was their human bond, their protector. What damage had she unintentionally done by leaving them?

“They need time, your Grace,” she explained. “We’ve been apart for many months.”

Daenerys slowly extended her hand then snatched it back. She repeated the action then sighed. At first, Brienne didn’t understand her intention until she saw the Dragon Queen’s hand shake and her stark expression. She realized Daenerys wanted to touch the dragons but feared rejection if they shied away from her. She was still absorbing the shock of losing Viserion.

“Choose this one, your Grace,” Brienne advised, stroking Gallan’s neck. “Gallan has a calm temperament but isn’t as stubborn as Serdun or Ardayn.”

“Gallan?” Selwyn spoke for the first time, blue eyes wide with awe. “Is he named after your brother?”

“Yes, Father, I named it after Galladon,” Brienne confirmed. “Gallan is as blue and as calm as Tarth’s sapphire waters.”

“I named Viserion after my brother.” Tears filled Daenerys’s eyes as she held her hand out for Gallan to sniff. “It was my way of keeping his memory alive.”

Brienne nodded. “Mine, too.”

Gallan looked at Brienne then hesitantly sniffed Daenerys hand. True to his nature, he allowed Daenerys to stroke him. She knelt beside Brienne and ran her hands down Gallan’s rough hot body. Gallan leaned closer to Daenerys but looked back to Brienne. 

“Don’t worry, Gallan,” Daenerys crooned. “I won’t take you from your mother. I just wish to be your friend.”

“Father, please help me,” Brienne requested.

Selwyn’s eyes widened but he displayed the courage and fortitude Brienne had spent her entire life trying to emulate. He crossed slowly and calmly to his daughter.

“They don’t know me,” he cautioned.

“But they know me,” Brienne explained. “They’ll see me in you and fall into your arms just as I do.” She stroked Allwyn. “I named this one after Mother and you. It’s the one who always wants to be held. Allwyn, go to your namesake.”

Allwyn may not have understood the words but it stretched its neck to look at Selwyn. Selwyn knelt and all the dragons looked from father to daughter then back again. As Brienne predicted, Allwyn willingly went to Selwyn when he held out his hand.

“Brienne.” Jon took small, slow steps closer to her. “You saved Sansa and created a bond with House Stark that will never be broken. Will that be enough for your dragons to consider me a friend?”

Brienne looked over the three dragons still huddled around her. Catren was their leader. As long as Brienne held it, the rest would remain calm. But Serdun and Ardayn were her most devoted guards. Could they be persuaded to leave her side? Gently she nudged Ardayn forward. 

“Ser Arthur Dayne, the _Sword of the Morning_ , was considered one of the greatest knights in Westerosi history. Perhaps Ardayn will bond with another man who is destined to leave his mark on Westeros.”

Ardayn moved forward, matching Jon’s slow measured steps. Suddenly the dragon squawked and jumped against Jon with such strength, the king was forced to take a step back to keep his balance. His arms tightened automatically around the dragon when it landed against his chest. The King in the North blinked, looking dazed.

“That…that was easy,” he muttered.

“Drogon took to you, as well,” Daenerys commented. “Why is that?”

Jon looked confused. “I don’t know. I have a direwolf. Perhaps the dragons can smell him on me or sense our connection, one magical creature to another?”

Daenerys frowned but was distracted when Gallan shifted closer to her. She wrapped her arms around the dragon and hugged it, tears slipping from her eyes.

“That might explain why Ardayn took to you so easily,” Brienne suggested. “If Drogon likes you, it makes sense its offspring will like you, too.”

“Drogon?” Daenerys repeated. “These are Drogon’s children?”

“Yes, your Grace. Drogon led me to them. I cared for them until it was time for them to leave with their father.” Brienne buried her face in Catren’s neck to hide the flush in her cheeks. Lying didn’t come naturally to her so abbreviated truths were the best she could do. 

“Where were they while you were protecting Sansa?” Jon shifted Ardayn in his arms. 

“Valyria,” Jorah replied coming closer to them. “Lord Tyrion and I saw Drogon when we road through the ruined city. It’s the natural home of dragons.”

“Why didn’t he bring the little ones with us when we left Essos?” Daenerys wondered.

Everyone turned to look at Drogon. Fortunately, the dragon didn’t speak the Common Tongue and couldn’t reveal the truth. How would the Dragon Queen react upon learning her own nephew had a stronger bond with Drogon’s children than she did?

“Perhaps he tried but they wanted to find Lady Brienne instead?” Jorah suggested.

“We should take the dragons inside,” Daenerys decided. “They’re probably tired and we need a comfortable place to sit. I wish to know every detail of Lady Brienne’s adventure.”

Not that Brienne would reveal it. Daenerys would not take kindly to learning her brother Rhaegar had left behind a son. A son with a greater claim to ruling Westeros. A king of the people, who would work for their good, not his own. A man who would guide the seven kingdoms to a great and glorious future.

Brienne tried to get up but the combined weight of Catren and Serdun held her down. “Podrick!”

Podrick turned sickly pale but obediently, though very slowly, crossed the courtyard. Tyrion patted his hand as he passed.

“Don’t worry, young Podrick,” Tyrion encouraged. “Dragons are highly intelligent, perhaps even more intelligent than humans. They know friend from foe. They know you love Lady Brienne as much as they do.”

The words didn’t appear to reassure Podrick whose face was now shiny with sweat. Still, he continued forward, his faith in his lady unwavering. Brienne stroked Serdun’s neck and nodded to Podrick.

“Serdun is named after Ser Duncan the Tall, the greatest knight in my family’s history. And you, Podrick, will one day be a great knight, too,” Brienne promised. 

Like Ardayn had with Jon, Serdun began to walk to Podrick. The dragon didn’t jump into the squire’s arms but allowed Podrick to stroke it. Serdun sniffed him carefully then rose in a perfect vertical lift. Podrick gasped and froze. The dragon draped itself around Podrick’s shoulders, like a living, fire-breathing cape. Podrick grunted, his knees buckling under the weight of the dog-sized dragon, fading terror still tightening his expression. 

“My Lady, Ser,” he gasped. “Why must we carry them? They can fly!”

“The dragons have been away from their mother for a long time,” Daenerys smiled gently at Gallan. “They need reassurance they will not be separated from Lady Brienne again.”

“I can’t carry them all,” Brienne continued. “They’ve attached themselves to those they sense are bonded to me, you and Father.”

“I’m bonded to Drogon so they’ve also accepted me,” Daenerys tore her gaze from Gallan long enough to glance up at Podrick. “Drogon has shown an affinity for King Jon, so he must be an acceptable bond, too.”

Brienne stood with Catren in her arms. The other dragons twisted their necks to watch. Catren squawked and wrapped tightly around Brienne, so tightly Brienne knew she’d have bruises. But it was worth it to reassure the five she would remain with them. 

Beside her, Selwyn rose with Allwyn in his arms. The dragon was relaxed, its long neck wrapped around Brienne’s father’s shoulders, tail wrapped around his waist. Selwyn grinned at Brienne. 

“It’s just like carrying you. You were a heavy baby and liked to snuggle your face in my neck.” His grin suddenly faded. “Do dragons spit up fire?”

“Blowing fire is something they learned, Father, not an accidental act.” Brienne reassured. “They don’t leak fire.” 

Daenerys tried to rise but Gallan was too heavy for the tiny Queen. “Ser Jorah, help me, please.”

“Always, Khaleesi,” He came to his queen’s side without hesitation. “Shall I carry the dragon for you?”

“No, I want to hold him.” Daenerys shifted her arms around Gallan. “Come behind me and help me lift him.” 

“Yes, Khaleesi.” The look of devotion on the aging knight’s face was heart wrenching to see. 

He knelt behind his queen, wrapped his arms around her, under her arms, giving her his strength to rise. The guards parted to create a path to the castle doors. Daenerys looked over the assembled crowd.

“My Lords and Ladies, King Jon.” Somehow, she still looked regal even with Gallan overfilling her arms and Jorah hovering with his hands ready to support her. “Let’s go inside and strategize for this parlay. We have a kingdom to save.”

She looked strong and sure, despite the heavy sadness darkening her eyes. The grieving mother had taken a much-needed respite while the focused Queen remerged. Brienne looked at Jon and saw the relief in his expression. They needed Daenerys and her dragons now more than ever. The Night King’s power and magic was greater than they’d anticipated, the five young dragons were exposed and Cersei still loomed as a threat. 

The Dragon Queen was powerful, well-armed and willing to fight for the living. Brienne knew the war against the Night King didn’t diminish Daenerys’s driving desire to sit upon the Iron Throne. She would put aside her goals to save the realm and extract vengeance for her lost child. She would not forget her ambitions. The future survival of Westeros lay in the hands of a woman obsessed with destiny, immersed in grief, hungry for revenge and thirsting for conquest. How would they keep her on the proper path? 

The weight of that responsibility caused a shudder to pass through Brienne. Catren shifted but still maintained a bruising hold. Brienne stroked Catren as she waited for her turn to walk inside. She was a knight, used to following orders. If only Griff were here. He’d know what to do. He knew how to bring people together, guide them towards a desired goal and find common ground among warring factions. Griff has been raised to rule.

Jon turned to her, is if sensing her distress. He gave her a small smile and nod around the burden of Ardayn in his arms. Some of the heaviness lifted from Brienne’s shoulders. Jon had shown the same aptitude for leadership. He had united the North and was now building an alliance with Daenerys. He would also parlay with Cersei. Griff wasn’t here but she and Jon were. Maybe they would be enough to guide the queens towards the common goal.

At least until the son of Rhaegar Targaryen came to take his rightful place as the true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think about the dragons returning to Brienne?  
> Do you think this might have caused issues for Griff?  
> What about Daenerys? How will the new dragons affect her belief in her own destiny?  
> Do you think Brienne is still in character?
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this chapter. I'm eager to hear your opinions!


	15. Prophecy Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Targaryen blood. Three children with the blood of the dragon existed in the world. Daenerys was the daughter of the destined bloodline while Griff was the grandson. But how could the prophecy be true if Brienne wasn’t a child of Queen Rhaella’s line? Was there another Targaryen out there, perhaps ignorant of his lineage, as she’d been?

### Chapter 15 – Prophecy Keeper

Everyone once again gathered in the _Chamber of the Painted Table_. This time there was fresh energy in the room, the atmosphere lifted by the inclusion of the five young dragons. Catren and Allwyn still maintained tight grips on Brienne and Selwyn, respectively. Serdun flew off Podrick’s shoulders, to the young squire’s great relief. Podrick flexed his shoulders but stopped in mid-stretch when Serdun plunked itself onto the table between him and Brienne. The dragon was positioned between the two, close enough to attach itself to either if they tried to stand.

“I’m sorry, Serdun.” Brienne leaned closer with difficulty, since Catren refused to loosen its grip. “I had to honor my vow to Lady Catelyn. I would never have left you otherwise.”

“For which you will always have my family’s gratitude and loyalty.” Across the table, Jon carefully deposited Ardayn onto the tabletop. “The North will never forget you rescued Sansa and kept her safe.”

Ardayn looked around to the other dragons then sat down, alert and watchful, its tail falling into Jon’s lap. The clever dragon, half of Brienne’s most ardent guards, kept hold on Jon while still observing the other people in the room. Serdun also turned to face the room’s occupants. The two dragons were on opposite sides of the table, actively searching for threats. 

Davos was seated just north of the Iron Islands on the map, with Jon on his left, properly at the North. Selwyn was seated in front of Tarth in the Stormlands. Daenerys was between them, positioned in front of Dragonstone. Missandei was at her right, in front of the Vale with Jorah beside her, near his ancestral home of Bear Island. Brienne and Podrick were at the south side, in front of Dorne. Varys sat in front of the Reach while Tyrion was positioned in front of his former home in the Westerlands.

“Lady Brienne, please tell us how you came to know Drogon’s children.” Daenerys’s command sounded more like a plea.

The queen settled Gallan in her lap and hugged the dragon. Gallan, calm and stoic as always, allowed it, while still carefully observing the room. The dragons were on high alert, watchful for any threat that would try to separate them from Brienne.

“I went to Braavos in search of Lady Arya,” Brienne began. “She wasn’t there but a saltwater priest told me he’d seen a vision of my future and sent me to Tyrosh.”

Davos snorted. “Visions? You know better than to trust visions, Lady Brienne. Remember the horrors that witch Melisandre did in the name of her Lord’s visions?”

“Melisandre, the Red Priestess of the Lord of Light?” Daenerys asked.

“Yes, do you know her?” Davos’s lip curled. “Don’t trust her. She’s evil.”

“We’ll come back to Melisandre,” Daenerys assured. “First I want to hear from Lady Brienne.”

“The priest told me he and other followers of the Drowned God has seen the same visions. One had already come true, as did the rest. All were about Sansa.” Brienne looked at Jon. “That’s how I was able to find Sansa and take her to you.”

Jon frowned. “Perhaps it’s not the visions that are at fault. Mayhap the fault lies in the person interpreting the visions?”

“That’s what Kinvara said,” Brienne agreed.

“Kinvara?” Varys spoke to for the first time. “You met that red witch, too?”

Brienne nodded. “After Podrick and I arrive in Tyrosh, she found us. She told me where to go to find my guide. That guide turned out to be Drogon, who led me to the cave when the five baby dragons were hidden.”

“My Lady, Ser, weren’t you afraid following the dragon?” Podrick asked.

“I didn’t follow the dragon,” Brienne said drily. “It spooked my horse who then threw me. The cave was the only nearby shelter.” 

“These dragons must be nearly a year old,” Tyrion spoke. “Yet there was no whisper of them. How did you hide them?”

“They’re seven months old,” Brienne corrected. “I took a boat. They were very small at the time, not yet flying or breathing fire. I kept them at sea.”

“All by yourself?” Daenerys demanded. “Was there no one to help you? Where was Podrick?”

“I sent him back to Tarth, your Grace,” Brienne answered. “I didn’t know how long my search would be so I sent him to my father. As for being by myself, my father taught me how to manage boats of all sizes. I know them well.”

“And you were never disturbed, never threatened?” Tyrion probed.

“There was one attack,” Brienne admitted. “Three full pirate ships found us and tried to board.”

Daenerys gasped and hugged Gallan closer. Gallan, placid as always, briefly rested its head on the queen’s shoulder, as though to comfort her. Then the dragon returned to watching the people at the table, almost as if following the conversation.

“How did you protect the dragons?” she demanded.

“I didn’t.” Brienne looked sadly at her guards. “They protected me. They set fire to the pirate ships’ sails. Then Drogon flew in and destroyed the pirate ships.”

She shuddered at the memory, at how easily Drogon had crushed the pirates’ armada. A tremor passed through her body, so strong it was visible to the others at the table. Brienne dropped her head.

The dragon’s fury and vengeance had been horrifying to behold. Would the five ever be pushed to destroy with such ruthless force? One day they would be as big as Drogon, perhaps even bigger, the most powerful creatures in the world. Would they stay together, a caring family protecting their own or could they possibly turn on each other? Could she teach them tolerance and honor, the way her father had taught her? Was nurture powerful enough to guide the dragons’ nature?

“Was that when Drogon took them from you, Lady Brienne?” Tyrion broke into her thoughts, his voice gentle. “When you could no longer protect them on your own?”

Brienne lowered her ducked head further, not wanting them to see her anxiety. Tyrion though she was upset about the dragons’ past when she was actually terrified for their future. Catren finally relaxed its hold, allowing Brienne to wrap the hot, heavy weight in her arms, holding the dragon as tightly as it had held her. Daenerys had assured Gallan she didn’t intend to take the five away from Brienne. Her intentions could change or others might come after them. What would they do to stay together and to stay with her? Were they capable of doing what Drogon had done?

“How old were the dragons when you last saw them, Lady Brienne?” Missandei’s voice was also soft and low. 

Brienne kept her head down. “Three months.”

“Three months,” Jorah repeated. “They’ve been separated from you for longer than they’ve been with you. Yet they crossed half the known world to return to you, not to Drogon.”

Brienne nodded, head still down.

“Lady Brienne needs a moment. Let’s talk about these prophecies,” Daenerys suggested. “Lady Brienne received several from a Red Priestess as did I.”

“Don’t believe a word of what you hear from the red witch,” Davos snarled. “She’s an evil, evil creature who burns children _alive_ at the stake.”

“What?” Daenerys straightened in her chair.

They listened intently as Davos told them all about Melisandre’s false faith in Stannis Baratheon, the shadow she’d created to kill Renly, her subsequent murder of Princess Shireen, ending with Stannis’s loss against Ramsey Bolton’s men and Brienne’s execution of Stannis in Renly’s name.

“That witch may say King Jon is the prince or Queen Daenerys is the princess who was promised to bring the dawn. Don’t believe her. She has her prophecies mixed up and falsely interpreted visions because of it.” Davos finished. 

“Why do you say that, Ser Davos?” Missandei asked. “What prophecies did she confuse?”

“I remember her lies as clear as day. She told them to Stannis often enough.” Davos’s gentle face flushed with remembered fury. “She called him Azor Ahai and said ‘you are he who must stand against the Other. The one whose coming was prophesied five thousand years ago. The red comet was your herald. You are the prince that was promised, and if you fail the world fails with you.’ Well, Stannis is dead and the world still stands, doesn’t it?”

“The red comet,” Selwyn murmured. “I’d forgotten about that.” Then he smiled. “But that was a busy night. Brienne was being born that night.”

Everyone stared at Selwyn then Brienne.

“Odd, she doesn’t look like a young child to me,” Tyrion commented. “The red comet was seen about four years ago, if I recollect correctly.”

“Yes,” Daenerys agreed. “That was the year my dragons were born.”

“There was another red comet,” Varys said quietly. “And another prophecy. ‘When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone.’ She confused or joined the prophecy of the prince who was promised, who was born under a red star and Azor Ahai, who would wake dragons from stone under a red star.”

“I heard one, too,” Tyrion said. “The slaves in Volatis all told it. ‘There will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be _Lightbringer_ , the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him.”

“I was born in salt and smoke, here on Dragonstone,” Daenerys reminded them. “I woke dragons from dragon eggs as hard as stone. Does that make me Azor Ahai reborn?”

“Though you are powerful, you’re not a warrior, Khaleesi,” Jorah reminded her. “You carry no sword.”

“True,” Daenerys agreed. “But the cold breath of darkness does sound like the Night King.”

“The dragon must have three heads,” Selwyn announced quietly.

They all looked at him, most in confusion, Brienne in shock. Griff had already told her Rhaegar had believed it, believed having three people with dragon’s blood would create enough magic to allow dragons to be reborn. How did her father know about the prophecy?

Selwyn met her shocked gaze and sighed. “I shouldn’t have spoken. It was something a friend told me long ago, in confidence. All this talk of prophecies brought it to my mind.”

“No, Lord Selwyn, you absolutely must speak,” Jon contradicted. “I, as the king your daughter pledged her sword to, command you to speak freely.”

“And I, the rightful Queen of Seven Kingdoms, grant you clemency from any harm your words may cause.” Daenerys added. “We must know what you know.”

Selwyn remained quiet for a moment, then nodded.

“King Jaehaerys, your grandfather, your Grace,” Selwyn nodded to Daenerys, “believed in the prophecies of the prince who was promised. He even commanded your mother, Queen Rhaella, and father, King Aerys to marry. A woods witch had foretold that the prince who was promised would be born of their line.”

He paused and looked around the table. Everyone watched him with rapt attention, even the dragons. Allwyn pressed against Selwyn’s throat, enjoying the rumble of his voice. Selwyn stroked the dragon’s long neck, seeming to draw comfort from the act.

“Continue,” Daenerys urged.

“Prince Rhaegar was brought up to believe in the prophecy,” Selwyn went on. “He thought he was the prince who was promised. He believed he was destined have three children. Those three children would have the blood of the dragon and thus allow dragons to be reborn.”

“You knew my brother?” Daenerys demanded.

“I knew him as my prince, your Grace. He knew me because I was a friend of Jon Connington. Jon was one of the prince’s closest friend and the finest man I ever knew.” Selwyn frowned, his gaze far-away as his thoughts returned to the past. “Jon confided in me he was worried about the Prince. He said Rhaegar had come back to the city after a trip to Dragonstone, very disturbed. The Prince took to his rooms and immersed himself in studying scrolls. After a few days, he announced he’d become a knight.”

“I’ve been told my brother was already a great warrior,” Daenerys frowned.

“He was, your Grace,” Selwyn agreed. “A knight is the next level of warrior. He devoted himself to becoming a knight after that trip and what he found in those scrolls. Then Prince Aegon was born. He, like my Brienne, was born on the night of the red comet. That’s when Rhaegar became fixated on the idea of producing three children to be the three heads of the dragon.”

“But my brother and his two children died,” Daenerys concluded. “I brought my dragons into the world as the last, and only, Targaryen.” 

“The last Targaryen.” Selwyn’s eyes widened. His head snapped around to Brienne. “Is this why you asked me about your mother? How Allyna could have silver-blond hair and purple eyes when everyone else born of House Mallister had dark hair and eyes? You were also born of salt and smoke. You didn’t find these dragons. They’re bonded to you. You _birthed_ these dragons, didn’t you? You have Targaryen blood!”

For a moment there was complete silence as everyone stared at Brienne. 

Targaryen blood. Three children with the blood of the dragon existed in the world. Daenerys was the daughter of the destined bloodline while Griff was the grandson. But how could the prophecy be true if Brienne wasn’t a child of Queen Rhaella’s line? Was there another Targaryen out there, perhaps ignorant of his lineage, as she’d been? Brienne was positive she’d been born of King Aerys’s bastard line. She had to be Targaryen. How else could she have the blood of the dragon?

“Well, daughter? Selwyn demanded. “Am I correct, Brienne?”

Brienne hesitated. She could barely lie in the best of situations. How could she possibly lie to her own father? She looked into his deep blue eyes, exactly like her own, and admitted defeat. She couldn’t lie to him, not when he looked at her with such confused shock, not when the truth of the dragons sat, trustingly, in their laps. He’d taught her to be honorable, for nothing was more sacred to a knight than their honor. 

Whatever the cost, her father deserved the honor of the truth and her trust. He was a strong man, the finest she knew. She left nothing out, telling of the lion attack, Drogon’s rescue, the slavers, Drogon’s burning of them with her in the cave, waking up to baby dragons and the second slaver attack.

For a moment there was complete silence. Everyone looked at each other, varying degrees of shock and confusion in their expressions, except the dragons. They looked to Brienne, alert and watchful, silent reassurance that they’d would always be with her. Finally, Tyrion cleared his throat.

“Lord Selwyn, what do you mean Lady Brienne was born of salt and smoke?” he asked. “Queen Daenerys was born here, at Dragonstone, surrounded by saltwater and the smoke of battle.”

“Lighting struck outside Brienne’s birthing room, starting an enormous fire,” Selwyn explained. “The maesters warned we couldn’t move Allyna at such a delicate time. The men and I formed a chain to the sea to bring up buckets of saltwater and sand. Women were at the bedroom doors and windows, fanning away the salt and smoke. And, into that chaos, Brienne was born. The only remaining member of my wonderful family.”

“Lady Brienne, why didn’t you tell us the full truth?” Daenerys demanded, her voice thick with suspicion. “Why were you trying to hide the details of the dragons’ birth from us?”

“I wasn’t trying to hide the dragons’ birth, your Grace,” Brienne clarified. “I was trying to spare my father pain. Though my mother didn’t suffer the shame of being born a bastard, in truth she was. She and I are bastard children of House Targaryen.”

“No, you are not!” Daenerys’s voice rang with conviction. “You are Lady Brienne of Tarth. I won’t allow anyone to speak of you as anything less. You are a truer Targaryen than any other. The proof of that is in these five dragons. You are a legitimate, high-born lady and…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes widened. “And my _niece_. You’re my blood.” Tears filled the young queen’s eyes. She blinked them back rapidly. “Forgive me. I’m not normally this emotional.”

Missandei covered her queen’s hand with her own. “You have suffered shock after shock, your Grace. You’ve fought the Night King, lost a child, found a niece and learned Drogon has brought five new dragons into the world. Anyone would be emotional after enduring what you have.” She paused for a beat. “May I be the first to congratulate you on becoming a grandmother?”

Daenerys, who had been on the verge of crying, suddenly burst out laughing. It was a sweet, high laugh that broke the tension in the room. Everyone chuckled or smiled at each other. Even the dragons relaxed. Allwyn closed its eyes and curled up in Selwyn’s lap. Catren tucked its wings close and pressed its head against Brienne’s heartbeat. Ardayn and Serdun stretched out on the table, though still watchful. Gallan, held in Daenerys’s arms, laid its head on her shoulder. 

“Lord Selwyn, I’m very sorry to taint your memories of your dear wife.” The queen pressed her soft, pale cheek against Gallan’s rough, scaly neck. “But I’m grateful for who your daughter is and what she’s done.”

“My memories of my beloved wife have not been tainted, your Grace,” Selwyn assured her. “I loved Allyna, so much so that I’ll never take another wife. Eagles mate for life. Allyna insisted I devote equal time to our children because eagles share parenting duties.” He smiled at Brienne. “That’s why my daughter is so much like me.”

“And why you are so good with the young,” Brienne nodded at Allwyn in his lap. 

“Eagles?” Tyrion spoke. “Ahh, yes, the sigil for House Mallister is the silver eagle. Their house motto is ‘above the rest’, I believe. It seems you were always destined to soar, Lady Brienne, either as an eagle or as a dragon.”

“Speaking of soaring dragons, Your Grace, perhaps we don’t need the parlay,” Varys suggested. 

Daenerys raised her head. “Why not? We agreed we needed a ceasefire with Cersei in order to focus all of our forces on the battle against the army of the dead.”

“We did, but wouldn’t it be easier if you were already Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?” Varys queried. “Cersei cannot be trusted, not even to know her own mind.”

“How will I do that while Cersei sits on the Iron Throne?” Daenerys demanded. “My Hand has already informed me I cannot take my dragons and march into King’s Landing.”

“That’s because your dragons are weapons of mass destruction,” Tyrion reminded her patiently. “They are too big and too powerful to control their fire range. They’ll burn the Red Keep to the ground and kill hundreds in the process.”

Tyrion suddenly stopped speaking and exchanged glances with Varys.

“What?” Jon demanded. “What are you plotting?”

“Our queen’s dragons are too powerful to take into King’s Landing but these five are not,” Varys explained. “There are passages under the city we can use to smuggle the dragons. They’re small enough to take into the throne room. Cersei and her Queensgaurd can be defeated and Daenerys seated on the throne in a matter of minutes if we use the young dragons. They’re precision instruments.”

“They are not instruments,” Brienne snarled. “They’ve never attacked on command nor do they have battle training. What could they do in the throne room?”

“They breathe fire, that’s all they need to do,” Varys pointed out.

“Even if that were possible, what about the people?” Daenerys demanded. “Would they follow me? The people of the Bay of Dragons overthrew their masters because they knew I would lead them to a better life. Why would the people of King’s Landing follow me?”

“Your Grace, the common people don’t care about Queens and thrones,” Varys said. “They care about having food, homes and protection from those who would prey on them. They hate Cersei. None of them cared when the Faith Militants locked her in a cell. They threw filth at her when the High Sparrow cut off her hair, stripped her naked and paraded her through the streets. They’ll welcome a ruler who sees them as people and not as cattle to be pushed about.”

“My sister never leaves the Red Keep,” Tyrion continued. “She knows the people hate her even more since the destruction of the Great Sept of Baelor. She’s only safe behind castle walls with her guards around her.”

“How was the sept destroyed?” Brienne demanded.

“Wildfire. My sister keeps stockpiles of it under the city,” Tyrion admitted.

“You want to sneak fire-breathing dragons through passageways stocked with wildfire?” Brienne demanded. “Lord Hand, have you considered how dangerous that would be?”

“You said the dragons can control when they breathe fire,” Varys reminded her.

“When they are calm and not threatened,” Brienne shot back. “Do you believe they’ll feel safe in dark, narrow tunnels or will they want light? Lord Varys, you know what kind of light dragons create.”

Varys and Tyrion exchanged glances.

“Then consider what will happen if the dragons are attacked,” Brienne continued. “They’ve no battle training and are young enough to be injured or killed. Worse, imagine what _Drogon_ will do if anyone attacks the little dragons. That so-called ‘weapon of mass destruction’ burned the entire pirates’ armada to _ashes_ when they attacked these five. Drogon wouldn’t spare anyone in the Red Keep if these dragons cry out for help.”

Tyrion and Varys exchanged glances again.

“What about --” Tyrion began.

“No!” Daenerys’s voice was as sharp as Valyrian steel. “I’ve already lost one child to impulsive, arrogant decisions. I won’t make that mistake again. We will _not_ take the young dragons into the Red Keep. We will _not_ risk their lives and we won’t put the people of King’s Landing at risk, either. I won’t be the Queen of Ashes. That’s my final decision.”

There was silence for a moment as her words faded from the air. Tyrion and Varys exchanged glances then nodded to their queen. Jon looked from them to Daenerys then Jorah and Davos. Jorah looked grim while Davos nodded back to the king.

“Then we must parlay with Cersei,” Jon said. “That means Lady Brienne and the young dragons should stay behind in Dragonstone.”

No, Brienne almost cried out. She couldn’t stay behind. She needed to know what happened at the parlay. Griff and the _Golden Company_ needed to know how to react and prepare. She had to observe every detail, every expression that might be of value in crafting Griff’s strategy.

“Your Grace, I believe I’ll be of value at the parlay,” Brienne insisted. “If we cannot reach a compromise with Cersei, I might be able to help Lord Tyrion reason with Ser Jaime.”

“The Kingslayer? The Oathbreaker?” Jon’s mouth curled into a sneer. “He has no more reason and even less honor than his sister. At least she’s open about her evil.”

“Ser Jaime swore an oath to Lady Catelyn to send Sansa and Arya back,” Brienne said quietly. “Because of that oath, Ser Jaime gave me gold, armor and his Valyrian steel sword. If you feel you owe me a debt for saving Lady Sansa, your Grace, it’s because Ser Jaime made it possible.”

She watched the king’s mouth drop open. He didn’t speak but the shock, confusion, disbelief then hesitant acceptance in his expression spoke for him.

“My brother has honor, your Grace,” Tyrion added. “His weakness is that he loves too deeply and will do _anything_ for those he loves. My sister is greedy and manipulative but my brother’s sin is that he is a fool for love.”

Jon closed his mouth. He looked at Daenerys. She frowned back at him, her expression caught between disbelief and congealed dislike. Neither spoke.

“Do you know why your brother killed King Aerys, Lord Hand?” Brienne asked. “Did you ever ask him about it?”

Tyrion shook his head. “I asked him once but he refused to speak of it. He only muttered ‘what right does the wolf have to judge the lion’ and walked away. We never spoke of it again.”

“He told me.” Brienne turned to Daenerys. “That wildfire Cersei used to destroy the Sept of Baelor was a favorite weapon of your father’s. He liked to burn people alive with it.”

“Aye,” Jon agreed, finally finding his voice. “He burned my grandfather alive. He burned my uncle alive. He killed and laughed as his victims suffered.”

“I already know my father was an evil man,” Daenerys said quietly. “I’m aware he went insane.”

“Do you know how insane, your Grace?” Brienne asked, her voice clear and direct. “Do you know he ringed King’s Landing with caches of wildfire? That last day, when Ser Jaime killed him, Aerys ordered his pyromancers to burn the city to the ground. Do you know your father wanted to be the King of Ashes?” 

She paused to watch the color drain from the queen’s face. Daenerys shook her head slowly.

“He thought he’d be reborn as a dragon and would burn the world,” Brienne continued. “That’s why Ser Jaime killed him. Not because of how sickened he was by your father’s vindictive killing; not from the misery of standing guard, hearing your mother’s screams when your father repeatedly raped her; not because he knew your father was going mad. Ser Jaime killed him to save every man, woman and child in King’s Landing.”

The room fell silent. Brienne looked around to gage their reactions. Varys lowered his head, his eyes troubled. Tyrion’s face was ashen grey while Jon’s grim expression tightened. Davos and Jorah looked saddened. Missandei was quiet and calm, an observer who hadn’t been affected by Jaime’s actions or his subsequent fall from grace. Daenerys still looked stunned, her eyes dark and unfocused as she tried to absorb the new knowledge. 

“Oh, Jaime.” Tyrion’s voice cracked. He covered his face with his hands and shook his head. “He was so proud to have become a knight. All he ever wanted was to serve with honor.”

“His honor was stolen from him, Lord Hand,” Brienne said. “As a knight, he didn’t complain. He continued to serve his kings, _as was his duty_.” 

“Why didn’t he ever speak of it?” Tyrion uncovered his face, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “It would’ve been easy to prove his claim by locating the caches of wildfire.”

“Because Lord Ned Stark judged him without trial, without question and even without asking Ser Jaime for an explanation,” Brienne fought to keep her voice even. “He stripped Ser Jaime of his honor and condemned him to a life branded an oath breaker. Ser Jaime, who had saved more lives than all the other knights in Westeros combined.” She looked at Jon. “Your father’s prejudice condemned and cast down one of the greatest heroes in all of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Once again, Jon was silent. This time his mouth had flattened into a straight, hard line. Brienne knew she’d taken a calculated risk by confronting the monarchs so bluntly with their fathers’ injustices. Blunt truth was the only way to make then understand how much Jaime had been wronged by those he’d sacrificed so much to serve.

“Ser Jaime has made mistakes. I don’t deny that but he is a man of honor, your Graces,” Brienne continued. “I’m proof of it. His unflagging service to kings who sneered and belittled him is proof of it.”

“If we can’t get through to Cersei, we’ll reach Jaime.” Tyrion sighed, his eyes still dark and devastated. “My brother has lived his entire adult life in shame and shadows, unable to claim his honor, his accomplishments or even his own children. Allow him to truly shine and he’ll blind you with his light.”

“Your father wronged him, your Grace,” Brienne added, looking directly at Jon. “You have the opportunity to right that wrong. The White Wolf has united wildlings, free folks, warring houses and the Targaryen banner. Surely you can restore a knight’s honor.” 

Her defense of Jamie had been passionate and extreme. Brienne knew what they didn’t. Jamie had an important role to play in the great war to come. They needed him in battle with them. Brienne couldn’t tell them, not without revealing the many, many secrets she still held. She could, however, help restore Jamie’s honor, allow the world to see him as she did. It was small thanks for having saved her honor and her life. 

_The man who killed a king who thought he’d be reborn as a dragon saved a woman who truly brought dragons into the world._

History echoed. Griff had taught her that. During those nights at sea, when he’d been unable to sleep, he’d told her about the great battles in history, the strategies that repeatedly worked and the arrogant mistakes that always led to failure. _Those who didn’t learn from history were taught by it_. The key was to know what _had_ happened to understand what _would_ happen. Human nature never changed. 

In the end, man was always his own worst enemy.


	16. Strategy Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And we must be unified,” Jon added. “As my father always said ‘when the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.’ The living must band together. We cannot allow our personal differences to overcome our common goal of survival.”

### Chapter 16 – Strategy Keeper

Those gathered in the _Chamber of the Painted Table_ were silent, Brienne’s plea for King Jon to restore Jaime’s stolen honor still hung heavy in the air. Daenerys and Jon looked at each other. Finally, Daenerys nodded. Jon nodded back to her.

“Brienne, I’ll speak with the Kingsl-- Ser Jaime,” Jon corrected himself, “after the parlay. It would ring false if I discussed it while we were negotiating with his sister.”

Brienne nodded. “Thank you, your Grace. 

“Now, for our strategy in King’s Landing,” Jon continued. “We’ll show Cersei the creature we caught and try to achieve a ceasefire with her. We know she’s aligned with Euron Greyjoy. He’ll use the _Iron Fleet_ to bring over the _Golden Company_.”

“No, he won’t.” A voice spoke from the door.

They all turned to look. Theon Greyjoy stood in the doorway, flanked by Dothraki guards. He was covered in healing bruises but still looked strong and determined.

“Theon,” Jon greeted, his voice cold but calm. “You look better. The rest has done you good.”

Theon nodded then dropped to his knee. “I don’t know which ruler I should kneel to, the queen who my sister allied with or the king who forgave me despite my wrongs.” 

“You have knelt to us both,” Daenerys said. “King Jon and I are allies and we hope to soon gain a ceasefire with Cersei and your uncle.”

“He won’t do it, your Grace,” Theon insisted. “He won’t accept kings, queens or ceasefires. My uncle only wants to conquer. He’ll use the ceasefire as an opportunity to create dissent or to stab you in the back.”

“Arise, Theon and join us as the table,” Daenerys commanded. 

Theon rose then came into the room. He stopped abruptly and his eyes rounded when he saw the dragons. The dragons, in turn, also rose from their comfortable poses, alert and watchful.

“Come, Theon,” Jon urged. “The dragons won’t harm you unless you’re a threat to Brienne.”

Theon remained where he was and swallowed hard, his eyes wide and dark. 

“Dragons are very intelligent creatures, Theon.” Tyrion explained. “Some say they’re smarter than humans, better able to understand human nature. They can sense human intent. They’ve only met us but they’ve accepted us because they know we have love, or at least admiration, for Lady Brienne.”

“Aye,” Jorah agreed, his voice low. “I’ve been with Khaleesi’s dragons since they were born. I’ve never feared them because they know I love my queen.” 

“No one with good intent towards our queen fears her dragons,” Missandei spoke. “She has an army of thousands, none of whom have ever been harmed by her children.”

“Do you have good intent towards Lady Brienne, Theon?” Tyrion asked.

“Yes.” Theon blinked then slowly came closer to the table. “Lady Brienne and Podrick saved my life. They saved Sansa’s life. I have nothing but gratitude and admiration for them.”

Theon smiled at her and Brienne smiled back. Still he hesitated. Brienne pulled Catren into her lap. Podrick, hand shaking, lightly stroked Serdun’s back. His hesitant touch wouldn’t stop the dragon but the gesture reassured Theon, who took more steps to the table. The guards faded back when Daenerys nodded to them. Theon finally sat in the chair between Tyrion and Davos, near the Iron Islands on the Painted Table.

“Are you sure your uncle won’t agree to a ceasefire, Theon?” Jon asked.

It took Theon a moment to tear his gaze away from the Ardayn seated on the table in front of Jon. The king patiently repeated his question to gain Theon’s attention. The young man blinked then nodded to Jon.

“Aye, your Grace. He’ll agree but he won’t honor it,” Theon explained, trying not to look at the dragons. “He’ll lie, cheat, steal or kill to have his way. He won’t honor his alliance with Cersei, either. He’ll kill her in her sleep first chance he gets.”

“My little birds tell me Cersei now openly sleeps with her brother so she is safe, for now,” Varys remarked. 

“But not for long,” Theon predicted. He shifted to face the King in the North. “My uncle means to be King of Westeros. That’s why he took Yara and Ellaria Sands alive. He wants to show all his strength and cunning.”

“True,” Varys agreed. “He paraded them through the streets of King’s Landing before giving Ellaria and Tyene Sands to Cersei. They were his engagement gifts to the queen.”

“Engagement gifts?” Brienne repeated. “Ser Jaime allowed this? Doesn’t Euron know Cersei is with Ser Jaime?”

“He doesn’t care,” Theon said. “He doesn’t care about Cersei. Once he marries her, he’ll take the Iron Throne from her. She won’t survive their wedding night.”

“So, what do we do?” Jon asked. “Euron will lie to our faces and take the _Iron Fleet_. We need them to bring over the _Golden Company_.”

“We have to get Yara back,” Theon insisted. “We must kill Euron and his generals, then Queen Yara will command the _Iron Fleet_.” 

“We’re going into parlay for a ceasefire,” Jon protested. “We can’t turn around and kill Euron.”

“Why not?” Theon demanded. “He’ll kill us if he can. He may even kill the _Golden Company_ once he has them at sea. They’ll be trapped on ships with his men. Ships he controls, men who can hide weapons and destroy another potential ally.”

Brienne straightened in her chair. “We can’t allow Euron to ferry the _Golden Company_. They’ll be fish in a barrel once Euron has them at sea. He can take them hostage or kill them. He knows losing the _Golden Company_ will weaken Cersei’s defenses.”

“Every day Yara is in his hands makes it less likely she’ll survive,” Theon continued. “Yara is the only other ruler the Ironborn will accept. We must save her to regain the _Iron Fleet_.”

Jon and Daenerys exchanged glances. 

“What’s your plan?” Tyrion asked.

“We need to create a distraction, something that will lure the generals off the ships,” Theon said. “Then my men and I can search for Yara. Once we have her, we’ll kill Euron and his generals. There’s ten of us here. That should be enough.”

“Men are not a problem,” Daenerys said. “The Dothraki are the most efficient fighters in the known world. Creating a distraction big enough to draw out Euron’s generals will be the issue.”

Theon looked around the table, at the five dragons watching him with keen interest. “What about your dragons, your Grace? The dragons terrify even the most hardened Ironborn.”

“That’s a possibility,” Daenerys mused. “Drogon and Rhaegal will be a show of my power. It will make an impressive entrance for me to arrive on dragon. Perhaps they’ll be enough to unsettle the Ironborn generals.”

“What about these dragons?” Theon asked. 

Jon shook his head. “These dragons are too small to risk taking into the parlay. They’ll remain at Dragonstone with Brienne.”

“Your Grace, I must attend the parlay,” Brienne insisted. “You may need me to help persuade Ser Jaime.”

“The dragons won’t stay behind without you,” Jon pointed out.

Brienne thought for a moment. “They might, if they can have someone they trust.” She rose, Catren still in her arms and crossed to the door. “Allwyn, māzigon naejot issa.”

Everyone watched as Allwyn, sleepy and comfortable, looked at Brienne then up at Selwyn. The dragon made a sound between a squawk and a squeak. Brienne repeated the command. Allwyn reluctantly left Selwyn’s lap and flew to Brienne’s side. 

“Sȳrī gaomagon, Allwyn,” Brienne praised, kneeling to put Catren down beside Allwyn. “Father, let’s try a test. Try to call Ardayn to you. Use the same words I did to call Allwyn.”

Selwyn frowned but nodded. He garbled the unfamiliar words. Ardayn tilted its head and looked at Brienne’s father. Daenerys tried to call the dragon. Ardayn squawked but didn’t move. Selwyn repeated the command. This time Ardayn flew across to him. The dragon squawked again and looked at Selwyn.

“Sȳrī gaomagon, Ardayn,” Brienne praised. “Father, call Catren.”

The command was less awkward this time as Selwyn repeated it. Still, it took two times before Catren finally flew from Brienne’s side to settle beside Ardayn. Allwyn squawked and ruffled its wings then flew back to Selwyn’s lap without command. Brienne came back to her seat. 

“Daughter, why did you have me call them?” Selwyn leaned back to allow Allwyn to settle in his lap. “Why did we move the dragons around?”

“I believe they’ll stay with you, Father,” Brienne explained. “You and I share blood and bond. We even look alike. The dragons listened to you, once they understood your command. They’ve accepted you as they accepted me, unconditionally. We have a few more days before the parlay for them to become even more comfortable. I can leave them here with you and Drogon.”

“Drogon?” Daenerys repeated. “I want to ride him into the parlay, as a show of strength and to try to create a distraction for Theon.”

“We can’t lock the little dragons in cages, your Grace,” Brienne insisted. “They’ll want to swim and fly. My father can comfort them but they need Drogon to protect them. We can’t put them at risk.”

Daenerys thought for a moment. “Very well. I’ll take Rhaegal to the parlay, if the little dragons will stay with your father. We can test them by having you leave for the parlay before us. I agree your passionate belief in the Kingsl--,” she paused, “Ser Jaime, may help bring him to our side.”

Brienne looked to Selwyn. “Is that alright with you, Father?”

“I’m agreeable.” Selwyn looked at Catren and Ardayn in front of him then down at Allwyn. “This little one seems quite settled in my lap. It’s best they stay here. King’s Landing may not be safe for them.” 

Brienne smiled. All the dragons were now on the south east side of the map, clustered around the Stormlands, Dragonstone and Dorne, by Brienne, Podrick, Selwyn and Daenerys. Brienne didn’t miss the way Varys, Theon, Jon and Davos relaxed now that the dragons weren’t so close. The natural fear of dragons affected everyone who wasn’t used to them. Missandei, Tyrion and Jorah were calm, as they understood the dragons’ intelligence and emotional depths. 

“There are other threats we haven’t discussed, your Grace,” Varys said.

“More?” Daenerys sighed. “How many more?”

“Many, many more,” Varys answered. “Some we know, some we have hints and others we have not yet learned. We must be vigilant.”

“And we must be unified,” Jon added. “As my father always said ‘when the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.’ The living must band together. We cannot allow our personal differences to overcome our common goal of survival.”

Daenerys nodded. “What’s the next threat, Lord Tyrion?”

Tyrion pulled a scroll from his pocket. “I sent a raven to Tycho Nestoris at the Iron Bank. I was sent this reply. ‘The golden blood flows through waters and storm. The honorable man is a rose without thorns.’ The initials at the bottom are HS and there’s no seal.” 

Tyrion passed the scroll around the table. Jon took it and studied it for a moment before passing it on to Jorah. 

“HS can stand for Harry Strickland,” Jorah said, studying the scroll. “He’s the current leader of the _Golden Company_.”

“Aye, if it is, then I know what the scroll means,” Jon said. “Waters and Storm are the surnames of bastards, as is Snow in the North. Their men want titles and lands in the Stormlands and the Crownlands.”

“That makes sense, Khaleesi,” Jorah agreed. “Your brother Rhaegar’s strongest allies were in the regions closest to King’s Landing. They were cast out or lost lands and titles when Robert took the Iron Throne.”

“Then a rose without thorns would be the Reach,” Tyrion surmised. “Harry Strickland is asking for Highgarden in exchange for fighting honorably.”

“Honorably?” Brienne asked. “What does that mean? Why wouldn’t they fight with honor?”

“They’ll fight as needed but won’t harm women or children,” Daenerys explained. “I won’t tolerate rapists or slavers in my ranks.” 

“It could be a good decision to place the leader of the _Golden Company_ in the Reach,” Vary said. “It may need a strong military presence to protect it.”

Daenerys studied the scroll when it came to her. “Why is that?”

“Dorne is selecting a new prince, your Grace.” Varys pressed his hands together. “And gathering its armies.”

“Isn’t that good?” Daenerys asked. “Dorne was our ally.”

“No, my Queen, Ellaria Sands was our ally,” Tyrion corrected. “She made as many enemies as allies when she and the Sand Snakes murdered Princes Doran and Trystane. We don’t know if the new prince will join us or wait out this war.”

“Dorne wouldn’t be gathering their armies if they plan to wait out the war,” Jorah pointed out. 

“Perhaps their spies have informed them of how weak Cersei is,” Varys suggested. “The Dornish have hated Tywin Lannister since the death of their beloved Princess Elia. She and her children died in the sacking he ordered.”

“So much so that Prince Oberyn Martell fought in a trial by combat for me against Ser Gregor Clegane.” Tyrion agreed. “Not because he believed in my innocence but because he wanted to kill Ser Gregor. Ser Gregor admitted to killing Princess Elia and her children during that sacking. Sadly, Ser Gregor killed Prince Oberyn during the fight.”

“Do you think Dorne means to march on King’s Landing?” Daenerys asked. “They want to take the capital from Cersei?”

“Why would they, knowing you plan to take it yourself?” Tyrion studied the Painted Table. “A better strategy would be to take Highgarden, your Grace. It supplies most of the food for King’s Landing. They can control the food supplies and hold the most prosperous keep in the southern regions. It would give them far more leverage when you take the Iron Throne.”

“Dorne may not even do that, if they know there’s a strong military leader, and a strong army, protecting Highgarden and Casterly Rock beyond it,” Jorah suggested.

Daenerys sighed. “Casterly Rock is not much of a prize. Cersei left it open for us.”

“The Rock may still be useful,” Tyrion said thoughtfully. “I sent a raven to Grey Worm. I asked him to check out a few things for me.”

“Plus, your Grace, people still live there,” Missandei reminded her. “They didn’t leave with the Lannister army.”

“Yes,” Daenerys agreed. “The people need stability and protection. Cersei may have abandoned them but House Targaryen will not. Inform this HS I agree to his terms.”

“Yes, my Queen,” Tyrion nodded. 

“Back to Dorne, do we know anything about this possible prince?” Jon asked. “Is he from House Martell? Are there any trueborn Martells left?”

“A few, your Grace,” Varys said. “There’s also House Dayne. It’s as noble as House Martell, with many marriages between them.”

“There’s an interesting story about House Dayne, King Jon,” Tyrion said. “Involving your father and Arthur Dayne, the last _Sword of the Morning_.”

“What about them?” Jon growled.

“After Ned Stark defeated Arthur Dayne at the _Tower of Joy_ , he took the Dayne ancestral sword, _Dawn_ , back to Starfall, Arthur’s family home. The sword is supposed to have magical properties. It selects its own wielder.” Tyrion explained.

Jon shook his head. “So? My father was the most honorable man I know. Why wouldn’t he take a valuable sword back to the family who should have it? It was the right thing to do. I offered to return _Longclaw_ to Ser Jorah when we went north of the Wall.”

Jorah nodded and the two men exchanged a look of understanding. Tyrion studied the young King in the North and frowned thoughtfully.

“They say Arthur’s sister, Ashara, killed herself when she learned of her brother’s death,” Tyrion continued. “A strong, beautiful woman with her whole life ahead of her, suddenly overcome by grief. Then Ned Stark returned to Winterfell with a baby boy. Interesting, isn’t it?”

Jon snorted. “Are you saying Ashara Dayne could be my mother?”

“It’s possible,” Tyrion suggested.

“Even if it was true, it would mean nothing,” Jon insisted. “I’d still be a bastard. They wouldn’t choose a bastard for the next prince.”

“Why not?” Davos asked. “We chose a bastard for our king.”

“It would certainly simplify things if they did,” Tyrion noted. “The King in the North hand-in-hand with the Prince of Dorne, the perfect blend of ice and fire.” 

“I’m not the next Prince of Dorne nor the prince who was promised. Discussing prophecies has made you think foolish thoughts. Those prophecies are just stories passed down through the ages,” Jon said. “No matter how much we want it, Azor Ahai won’t come to battle against the Night King. _We_ must guard the realms of men.”

“Prophecy is like a half-trained mule,” Tyrion nodded in agreement. “It looks as though it might be useful, but the moment you trust in it, it kicks you in the head.”

“If prophecy isn’t useful, how about facts?” Podrick suggested. “What do we know about this Night King? What are his powers?”

“We know he can raise the dead,” Jon offered.

“Didn’t you say his generals, these White Walkers, raised the dead?” Selwyn asked. “A group of the dead, the Wights, shattered when a general was destroyed by Valyrian steel sword?”

“Yes, it’s a good battle strategy,” Jorah explained. “The Wights follow whoever raised them. The generals have their own troops while the Night King raises foot soldiers at will.” 

“The Wights can be destroyed by fire, dragonglass and Valyrian steel. The White Walkers and the Night King are impervious to fire, even dragonfire,” Tyrion summarized. “They can only be killed with dragonglass and Valyrian steel.”

“We don’t know if they can be killed with dragonglass nor what can kill the Night King,” Jon cautioned. “We only confirmed the generals can be killed with Valyrian steel.”

“We need to gather all the Valyrian steel swords in Westeros,” Selwyn said. “That should be the first order once you reach a ceasefire with Cersei.”

“There aren’t very many,” Davos sighed. “A handful at most.”

“How can that be?” Selwyn wrinkled his brow. “There were thousand made before the Doom of Valyria. They cannot be destroyed so they must exist somewhere in the world. Surely there must be hundreds of them in the great houses of Westeros.”

Brienne’s fingers curled around _Oathkeeper_. Was this why Jaime needed to keep _Widow’s Wail_ close? Would he need it for the upcoming war?

“Many of those blades have been lost or hidden.” Jon’s voice was heavy. “I carry Longclaw but Lord Stark’s blade, _Ice_ , was stolen after his death.”

Brienne looked at Tyrion. The dwarf looked back at her with a calm, expressionless face. Did he know the fate of _Ice_? Was he aware Tywin Lannister had re-forged the greatsword? Did he know Brienne carried a part of _Ice_ while Jaime carried the rest?

“What about the dragon?” Selwyn asked quietly.

Daenerys looked around the table. “Which one?”

“The one you lost, your Grace,” Selwyn clarified. “What can the Night King do to your dragon?”

Daenerys’s eyes widened. “Viserion is dead. He fell through the ice. These things cannot swim. The Night King can do nothing to my child!”

“Khaleesi, Viserion was a creature of magic,” Jorah explained gently. “We don’t know all of the Night King’s powers or how they interact with other magic. We should at least prepare for the possibility he may raise Viserion as a white.”

The Dragon Queen’s face drained of all color and she lost the ability to speak. She opened and closed her mouth but no words came out.

“I don’t think that’s likely, your Grace,” Tyrion comforted her. “A white can be killed by fire, dragonglass and Valyrian steel. Viserion could be easily killed in a dragon fight or even with a spear tipped in dragonglass.”

“A spear thrown by an ordinary man can’t pierce a dragon’s scales,” Brienne protested. “Only the Night King has that magical strength.”

“No, a ballista can shoot a spear strong enough to pierce dragon scales,” Tyrion informed her. “Drogon was injured by such a bolt in the fight on the Gold Road.”

“What?” Brienne’s outrage woke the drowsy dragons, who all sat up alertly, even Allwyn who has been asleep in Selwyn’s lap.

“I’ll inform the Night’s Watch to be vigilant,” Jon said. “We need to build ballistas and spears tipped in dragonglass.”

“What if the Night King raises the dragon as a White Walker?” Podrick ventured. “Wouldn’t that be a stronger weapon? A dragon that can’t be killed by dragonfire, maybe not even dragonglass. We don’t have enough Valyrian steel to attach to spears that may or may not hit their targets.”

Daenerys gasped. Jon gave her a reassuring nod.

“The waters are fathoms deep. If the Night King could reach Viserion, wouldn’t he have already turned the dragon? We’d know very quickly if Viserion was flying again,” Jon insisted. “He’s not a juvenile, like these five dragons. He’d be seen.”

Daenerys released her breath and sagged against Gallan. Clearly the thought of her beloved child be turned into the undead had upset her. 

“So, it’s just a matter of time, then?” Selwyn asked.

“What do you mean?” Daenerys demanded. “Viserion is at the bottom of the sea. The Night King and his Army of the Dead cannot swim. They can’t reach or raise my dragon.”

Selwyn’s expression was gentle and pitying. “You’ve never seen what happens to a dead body once it’s been thrown into the sea, have you, your Grace?”

“No.” Daenerys shook her head. “What happens?”

“The Mother have mercy,” Davos, the only other person to live his life by the sea, whispered.

“What?” Tyrion demanded. “What happens?”

“The body putrefies then rises,” Davos explained. “All dead bodies rise eventually.”

“When? How long does it take for the dead to rise from the sea?” Jon demanded.

“It depends on how cold the water is and the body,” Davos continued. “The colder the water, the longer it takes for the body to rise.”

“This is a dragon,” Tyrion reminded them. “A dragon made of fire and magic. Are you saying it’s only a matter of time before the Night King raises Viserion and flies over the Wall, magic of the Old Gods be damned?”

“If the Night King can fly over the wall, all the realms of men are in danger.” Jon’s voice shook. “Destroying half his army was a useless gesture. He and his generals can fly anywhere and raise the dead at will. We don’t have enough men to uncover every grave and burn the dead. If Viserion becomes a White Walker, even the other dragons won’t be able to stop him.”

Daenerys buried her head in Gallan’s neck and sobbed. Missandei patted her queen’s back and murmured to her. Everyone else looked at Daenerys and each other in growing horror. Brienne’s fingers physically twitched with the need to take quill to scroll and warn Griff. The desperate desire to talk to him, hear his calming voice, be reassured he had a plan for this contingency too, throbbed in her body like a physical ache.

For five thousand years, the magic of the Wall and the Old Gods had held back the Night King. But the Gods knew men were their own worst enemies. Their competitive natures too often overcame logic and reason. Men would undo even divine protections in their desire for greatness. As a result of Daenerys’s hubris, her mistaken belief in her dragons’ invincibility, the limits of the Old God’s magic would be breached. The evil the Wall had contained for thousands of years would soon have the means to spread his horror into the realms of men.

This was worse than her greatest fears. Brienne thought her duty was to protect the five from the wars of men. She hadn’t understood the real war wasn’t man’s usual petty battles for thrones and titles. This was a war for life itself. Worse, they were no longer fighting only the Night King and the Army of the Dead. They were now fighting time itself.

Even the Gods couldn’t hold back time.


	17. Dragonpit Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, the Gods had given humanity another chance to create a world where man and magic could co-exist. Human nature was a powerful and often destructive instinct. Few men had been taught to channel and control it, use it for the good of all men. Kings and Queens should make decisions to protect their people from their own worst impulses and ambitions. But who would protect the people when their monarchs didn’t bother to check themselves?

### Chapter 17 – Dragonpit Keeper

Brienne looked around as she entered the massive, crumbling Dragonpit. It was a horrifying reminder of the fate of dragons past, withering away in this ugly structure. She recalled Griff telling her about this place. 

_“They locked up the dragons in pits, denied them sunshine and freedom, limited their movement and kept them from flight. Like any chained creature, they weakened in captivity. The kings feared they couldn’t control the dragons so they suppressed them, causing the dragons born to become smaller and weaker. Finally, the dragon eggs no longer hatched. The so-called wise kings were so bloated with their own power, they diminished the magic of the dragons. They forgot kingship is a duty, not a right.”_

The Targaryen kings had taught their dragons to fight in their wars, then tried to contain them once they’d learned too well. The kings thought their position allowed them to reign over all creatures, even those made of magic. Their hunger for power and control destroyed the very thing they wanted most, the dragons themselves. 

Now, the Gods had given humanity another chance to create a world where man and magic could co-exist. Human nature was a powerful and often destructive instinct. Few men had been taught to channel and control it, use it for the good of all men. Kings and Queens should make decisions to protect their people from their own worst impulses and ambitions. But who would protect the people when their monarchs didn’t bother to check themselves? 

Jon walked past her, breaking her from her thoughts. She lengthened her stride to walk with him and Davos to the awning on the right side, as representatives of the North. Bronn pulled Podrick away, urging the young squire to join him for a drink. Brienne nodded in agreement. Podrick nodded back meaningfully. Good. He hadn’t forgotten his secret mission. Podrick staggered under the weight of Bronn’s arm as the recently anointed knight dragged him from the pit. 

Brienne choose the chair furthest from the others, giving her the best vantage point to watch their expressions, try to understand their intentions without relying on their false promises. Across the way, Daenerys’s team gathered. Varys and Missandei sat quietly while Tyrion, Theon and Jorah remained standing, looking around the vast, decaying structure. 

Qhono and the bloodriders, standing tall, dark and fearless, studied the Lannister guards posted around the space. The guards were tense, hands flexing on their swords as their gazes scanned the sky, instead of watching the deadly Dothraki warriors before them. Sandor went to speak with Tyrion. Their exchange was halted when the Lannister representatives arrived in the pit. Gregor led the party, with Cersei, Jaime, Qyburn, Euron and the Queensguards behind them.

Automatically, Brienne’s gaze went to Jaime. He kept his head facing straight ahead but his eyes watched her. He looked older and tired, new grey hairs appeared in the darkening blond, new lines creased his face and new grimness pulled down the corners of his mouth. The last few months had been terrible for him. His sister had used wildfire to destroy the sept, his father and daughter had been murdered, his last remaining child had taken his own life, he’d come face-to-face with the brother who’d murdered their father and now Euron was making advances to his lover.

Brienne shifted to study Cersei and jerked back from the sudden jolt. Cersei was staring directly at _her_ , malevolence glittering in her wildfire green eyes. While Jaime clearly showed the stress of the past few months, Cersei looked almost untouched; her skin smooth, her posture perfect, her body lithe and feminine. Only her hair, cropped close to her head, betrayed the image of the elegant, regal queen.

Sandor went up to the Lannister group. Gregor stepped forward to meet him.

“Remember me? Yeah, you do,” Sandor said. “You’re even fucking uglier than what I am now. What did they do to you? Doesn’t matter. It’s not how it ends for you, brother. You know who’s coming for you. You’ve always known.”

Sandor walked away, down the staircase to the level below the stone. Brienne saw Gregor’s red eyes, grey tinged skin and jerky movements. What had they done to him? The head of Cersei’s Queensguard didn’t even look human anymore. What kind of creature had he become?

“Where is she?” Cersei demanded.

“She’ll be here soon,” Tyrion promised.

“Didn’t she travel with you?” Cersei didn’t try to hide her sneering contempt for her brother or his queen.

They waited for another tense moment. Cersei again looked at Brienne then to Jaime. Her eyes narrowed slightly. Jaime stared straight ahead, eyes and jaw hard. The thunder of a dragon’s cry broke the new silence. They all, except Cersei, rose to look up at the sky. Some of the tension eased out of Brienne when there was only one large dragon flying towards them. That meant Drogon was still at Dragonstone, guarding the little dragons. Daenerys rode Rhaegal into the pit.

The terrified Lannister guards moved from their positions as Rhaegal landed. The dragon roared, announcing itself and its dominance. It stepped down into the pit and lowered its head. Brienne watched Jon and Tyrion turn back to gage Cersei’s reaction. Cersei remained blank-faced, trying to appear undaunted. Everyone else watched Daenerys dismount but Brienne continued to study Cersei. The current Queen of Westeros drew in a deep breath and briefly closed her eyes. She was as terrified of the dragon as everyone else but far better at hiding it.

Rhaegal took off in a perfect vertical lift, causing dirt to fly around them. The awnings and the Lannister bannisters flapped wildly. Daenerys took her time to calmly walk across the stone floor and join them at the parlay. Cersei’s expression was as hard as the stones beneath her feet as she watched the young conquer settle amongst her advisors and guards.

“We’ve been here for some time,” Cersei hissed.

Daenerys was unruffled. “My apologies.”

How could they be so calm? They weren’t meeting for tea; they were trying to save the realm from a threat greater than them all. Their posturing could spoil the attempts for a ceasefire even before they began. Brienne gripped the arms of her chair to keep herself still. Their cold, too-polite barbs were an unnecessary and possibly counterproductive exchange.

“We are all facing a unique –” Tyrion began before being cut off by Euron.

“Theon,” Euron called. “I have your sister. If you don’t submit to me, here and now, I’ll kill her.”

Theon’s mouth thinned, eyes burning with hatred. He looked over to Jon and something changed in his expression. Some of the tension smoothed away. Brienne looked at Jon, too. The King in the North nodded ever so slightly and Theon relaxed. Theon trusted Jon would remember Yara and help save her. Brienne relaxed with him as her anxious brain remembered Rhaegal wasn’t here to intimidate just Cersei. The dragon was a warning to Euron and the Ironborn generals of what awaited them if they choose to betray the Dragon Queen. 

Brienne turned her attention back to Tyrion in time to see him exchange glances with his brother. Jaime shook his head. Tyrion grimaced and nodded in silent agreement. Brienne’s breath caught. They were communicating. Despite the anger and disappointment the brothers felt towards each other, they had started to reconnect. Jaime wasn’t the stupidest Lannister, he simply lived by a personal code of honor few people understood. Brienne understood his code, Tyrion understood Jaime’s heart. Together, they would reach him. Her chest tightened again when Euron insulted Tyrion. Jaime immediately rose to his brother’s defense, icily suggesting the Ironborn king sit down. 

“Sit down or leave,” Cersei echoed. 

For all her impulsiveness and cruel ambition, Cersei wasn’t stupid, either. She looked at her brothers and saw the wall between them crumbling. The current Queen of Westeros didn’t order Euron because she agreed with Jaime, she spoke to regain control of the parlay. She was trying to seal the growing cracks allowing the brothers to finally see each other as they really were. Jaime was commander of her armies and her greatest source of support. Losing him would crush both her defenses and her spirit.

Tyrion finished his speech with minimal interruption. Cersei appeared unimpressed. Sandor came up the stairs with a wooden crate on his back. Everyone leaned forward when he opened the crate but nothing happened. Sandor kicked the crate onto its side. A horror beyond Brienne’s imagining rushed out, running straight for Cersei.

Instinctively, Brienne jumped up and unsheathed _Oathkeeper_ , her blood pounding in reaction to the white. Fortunately, Sandor had the creature on a chain and pulled it back before it reached Cersei. The queen cowered in her chair while Euron and Jaime jumped to their feet. The creature fell, arose, then ran back at Sandor. Sandor pulled out his sword and sliced the white in half.

Though it was in two pieces, both parts still moved. Brienne had heard about the horrors beyond the Wall but had never seen them. The creature was visible bones with chunks of rotting flesh and hair. Her hand tightened on _Oathkeeper_ and the blood pounded in her ears. Jon demonstrated how to kill the white with fire. 

“If we don’t win this fight then that,” Jon pointed to the white, “is the fate of every person in the world.” Jon stabbed the white with dragonglass. “There is only one war that matters and that is the great war. And it is here.”

Euron strode over to the remains of the white. “Can they swim?”

“No,” Jon said.

Brienne struggled to keep her face expressionless as Euron made his grand exit speech. She saw the way he glanced at Cersei before he left. Brienne looked over to Jon. He held Theon’s gaze and nodded subtly. Theon nodded back with an equally brief gesture. Brienne studied Cersei. The queen looked smug as she called Euron a coward. Jon glanced at Brienne. They both knew the pair was only acting. Euron was still on Cersei’s side, prepared to take the _Iron Fleet_ to Essos on her command. 

At first, it seemed Cersei understood the terrible threat but then she returned to focusing on her own blinding ambition, her war against Daenerys. Cersei would only agree to the ceasefire if Jon not ally with Daenerys. Cersei was still fixed on conquest, of trying to keep and even expand her control beyond King’s Landing. Jon refused.

“Queen Daenerys has already fought for us,” Jon explained. “She rode into battle and helped us slaughter half the Night King’s army. I gave her my word the North would bend the knee to her if she defeated this menace. I’m true to my word. I will not betray my promise to her.”

“If you’ve already killed off half their army then why do you need us?” Cersei asked, suspicion clear in her voice. “If you’ve already agreed to give her the North, why did you come here?”

“Because the Night King’s powers are growing,” Jon said. “I’ve received ravens informing me he’s begun to raise the dead even beyond the wall. It’s not enough to beat him back. We must destroy him completely.”

Brienne froze, almost light-headed at the news. The Night King was growing _stronger_? Jon must have gotten the scroll after she and Podrick left Dragonstone. What could cause the Night King to gain power? Dear Gods! Had they, in their efforts to diminish his army, done something to _cause_ the surge in power?

“There is nothing left to discuss.” Cersei stood up. “The dead will come for the North first. Enjoy dealing with them. We’ll deal with whatever’s left of you.”

She began to walk out of the parlay, her entourage behind her. Brienne watched, open-mouthed, as Jaime followed his sister. She hurried down to meet him.

“Ser Jaime,” she called.

Jaime continued walking but spoke back to her. “It’s good to see you. I imagine the next time will be across a battlefield.”

She continued after him. “We both saw what just happened. We both saw that…thing.”

“Yes, and I’m not looking forward to seeing more of them.” Jaime started down the steps. “I’m loyal to the Queen and you’re loyal to Sansa and her dolt brother.”

Brienne grabbed his arm to stop him. “Oh, fuck loyalty.”

Jaime stopped and stared at her. “Fuck loyalty? 

“This goes beyond houses and honors and oaths.” Brienne took a deep breath. “We need your help. We need _you_.”

“I’m loyal to my queen.” Jaime spoke through gritted teeth. “I pledged an oath to the throne, for the white cloak. It’s all I have left.”

“It’s not all you have, Ser Jaime,” Brienne insisted. “You have so much more. You _are_ so much more.”

“While you are less.” Cersei also stopped. “Less than a man, less than a woman, a desperate, pathetic fool flitting from one master to another. An insult to those who have to look upon you.”

“Cersei!” Jaime hissed. “Stop it.”

Brienne’s blood pounded in her veins, so hard she could hear it in her ears. “Whatever my faults may be, I’m not willfully blind. I won’t put my personal feelings ahead of the good of the realm. You must understand the terrible fate coming for us all.”

Cersei stalked closer, Gregor at her back. The Queensguard also turned around, ready to defend their queen.

“I understand perfectly well,” Cersei snarled. “I understand my brother gave you more attention than you’ve ever received from a man. You think he has feelings for you? He does not. I’m his queen, I’m his sister and I’m his family.”

“I’m family, too.” Tyrion came to the top of the steps. “You forgot that when you falsely accused me of Joffery’s murder.”

“You murdered our father!” Cersei elegant façade cracked as she faced her hated little brother. 

“You murdered our uncle. You murdered our cousin.” Tyrion’s eyes flashed with equal outrage. “You murdered Tommen.”

Cersei screamed with bloodlust and flew up the steps so fast Gregor couldn’t keep up with her. Jaime was a step behind her and caught her before she could rake Tyrion’s face with her clawed hands. Tyrion skipped back, out of her reach. The Queensguard spread out behind her, leaning back and forth, unsure if they should help their queen or stay out of her way. 

“Cersei, calm yourself,” Jaime wrapped his arms around her and picked her up off the ground. 

“Kill him!” Cersei screamed. “Ser Gregor, I order you to kill him!”

Gregor pulled out his sword, his red eyes blank and expressionless. Tyrion backstepped rapidly. Brienne, Jorah, Theon and Sandor withdrew their swords. They moved into position between Gregor and Tyrion. The Lannister soldiers left their posts to assist their queen.

“No! Stop!” Jaime ordered. 

It was unclear if he was talking to Cersei, Gregor or the guards. The guards stopped where they were but his words had no effect on Cersei or Gregor. Cersei twisted in Jaime’s arms and Gregor advanced. Jon came to join them but didn’t unsheathe _Longclaw_.

“This isn’t helping!” Jon’s gruff voice rose over Cersei’s vengeful cries. “Everyone, calm down and put away your swords!”

His command was lost on the furious queen as she twisted and kicked back at Jaime, charged on bloodlust and grief. Then Euron ran back into the pit, followed by his generals.

“Take cover!” The self-proclaimed King of the Iron Islands screamed.

Immediately, the already spooked Lannister guards turned to the Ironborn men and attacked. The clash of steel against steel broke through the blind rage controlling Cersei. She turned to see the fight, still held off the ground in Jaime’s arms. Brienne, Jorah, Theon and Sandor held their swords ready, between Gregor and Tyrion.

“Ser Gregor!” Cersei called. “Protect me!”

Gregor turned away from them and went to stand in front of Cersei and Jaime. 

“We’re not the enemy!” Euron screamed, even while slashing at Lannister guards. “They’re coming! Take cover!”

They all heard it then, the roar of a dragon. Everyone stopped fighting, looking up wildly for the source of the blood-curdling sound. Brienne looked up at Rhaegal, flying so high above them, it looked as small as a bird. The roar came again, closer this time, accompanied by the squawking of younger dragons. Jon looked at Brienne, his mouth falling open in shock.

“Protect your queen!” Jorah yelled back to Qhono. “Protct yeri khaleesi!”

Immediately, the bloodriders circled Daenerys and Missandei, kicking away chairs. The women rose from their seats and the Dothraki tightened their circle, weapons drawn. Varys slid behind them, ducking down to make himself appear smaller.

“Put away your weapons!” Jorah ran back to the awning, Theon only steps behind him. 

Brienne sheathed _Oathkeeper_ and turned to Sandor. “Put your sword away!”

Sandor shook his head. “Why?”

“Dragons!” Euron screamed, as he cut down a Lannister guard. “More dragons! Take cover!”

Everyone ran for cover, except Brienne. Jaime put Cersei down, grabbed her hand and ran with her back to their awning. Gregor and the Queensguard followed after them. Gregor was big but slower so he was the last man under the covering, positioning himself in front of Cersei’s chair. Jaime pushed Cersei behind the chair and shoved her down to her knees. He looked around.

“Tyrion! Brienne!” Jaime shouted.

“I’m okay,” Tyrion called, as he skirted around a chair under Daenerys’s awning. 

The Dothraki put their weapons away but kept a tight circle around their queen. Jorah stood in front of the chairs, next to Qhono, hiding Daenerys from view. Davos grabbed Sandor, who looked around wildly, as he stumbled back to Jon’s awning. Jon yanked the sword out of the confused man’s hand and threw it behind their tent.

The injured and dead Lannister guards and Ironborn men lay where they fell. Euron and the rest of the Ironborn generals pushed and shoved at each other, and the remaining guards, as they all fought to throw themselves down the stairs, into the underground pit.

“Brienne, take cover,” Jaime yelled.

She looked over to him. Jaime tried to run to her but Cersei had his hand in both of hers. Jaime twisted in his sister’s grip, dragging her along, and looked at Brienne, wild-eyed.

“Brienne, come here!” Jaime screamed.

He broke free from Cersei and tried to dodge around Gregor.

“No!” Cersei screamed. “Ser Gregor, stop him!”

Gregor grabbed Jaime’s shoulder with such force, Jaime winced. Cersei seized his hand again, holding him so tightly her knuckles were white. 

“No, Jaime, stay with me,” the queen ordered.

Still Jaime fought to free himself. “Brienne, take cover! The dragon will burn you alive!”

The dragons flew over the pit, the five grouped together in an arrow formation, Catren in the lead, with Gallan and Allwyn behind, followed by Serdun and Ardayn. Drogon flew above the young dragons and roared. Rhaegal roared in return and swooped down from the sky. The wind caused by their wings buffeted Brienne, tossing her hair, which she normally wore ruthlessly combed back, around and into her face. The young dragons began to circle, squawking loudly.

What had caused them to come to the parlay? They’d seemed fine when she’s left with Podrick two days earlier. Allwyn hadn’t even moved from her father’s lap when they’d gone. Jon would have told her if the dragons were restless when he left Dragonstone. Had Drogon or the five been upset when Daenerys left with Rhaegal? Worse, had the Gods known the parlay wouldn’t work and sent them? 

Men sacrificed their own lives, and other’s lives, for their foolish pride. Cersei held King’s Landing by the most tenuous grip. The slighted tremor could tumble her from her precious Iron Throne. Yet she refused to help, possibly condemning her people, those whom she should protect, to a horror that could engulf the entire Seven Kingdoms.

“Brienne!” Jaime screamed again, breaking her out of her thoughts. “Come to me!”

Brienne looked up at the dragons, watched them circle above her, never breaking formation. The Night King was growing stronger but those who needed to defend the realm continued to focus on their own needs. The world would be destroyed if the Night King’s powers continued to grow. The dragons might be all that stood between the people and the upcoming darkness. The Gods had decided on her course of action. They had shown the dragons to the world, expecting her to protect them. She was a dutiful knight, the instrument of their will. She would execute their commands faithfully.

She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa!”

The five dropped down from the sky, one at a time. Brienne braced herself for the impact of the dragons throwing themselves at her but there was none. Catren landed first, in front of Brienne, but didn’t try to jump into her arms. The dragon faced outwards, hissing in warning. Allwyn dropped to Catren’s right. But instead of facing Brienne, the dragon faced outward. Gallan took position next, back and left, also facing outward. Only then did Ardayn and Serdun, still circling above them, land. They placed themselves at Brienne’s back, also facing away from her.

Brienne turned in a circle, staring at the five. The dragons surrounded her, puffed and aggressive, wings spread to show they full, impressive stature. They weren’t pressing into her, cuddling and demanding her attention, they were _guarding_ her. Griff had taught them battle strategy or, at least, defensive strategy. They knew to circle first, then drop one at a time, still watching their surroundings, before all landing. It probably helped that Drogon and Rhaegal were close enough to add their far superior fire power if necessary, but the five were prepared to protect her even without them.

Brienne looked around the pit. Daenerys’s people watched calmly, unafraid of the dragons. Jon and Davos held Sandor’s arms but the bigger man was too dumbstruck to do anything but stare. Brienne brushed her hair back but it fell forward again. Fuck it. The God’s hadn’t chosen her to be their warrior because she was the most beautiful. They’d chosen her because they knew she’d do what needed to be done.

Brienne turned to look at the Lannister tent. The Queensguard were a shivering, shaking mess, standing behind their queen instead of in front of her. Gregor was the only Queensguard standing in front of Cersei. Qyburn sat still in his chair, squinting as if he couldn’t believe what his eyes were showing him. Cersei knelt on the ground, mouth open, eyes blank as she _refused_ to believe what she saw. 

Jaime, on the other hand, understood and accepted what he was seeing. His whole body sagged and his mouth opened and closed without words. His eyes were so dark and shadowed, they appeared haunted, his face blank of expression. He was lost in memories of horrors he’d already seen.

The little dragons weren’t safe exposed like this. No one was while they were here. An attack on them would result in Drogon and Rhaegal burning King’s Landing to the ground. The Lannister guards were already primed by the fight with the Ironborn generals, their swords dripping with blood. She had to get the dragons to a safe place, away from people with blooded blades and deadly intentions. But where could she take them? The _Iron Fleet_ was docked in the Blackwater Bay. The Ironborn fighters, also tense and scared, wouldn’t hesitate to raise their swords against the five. Drogon would incinerate their ships as easily as it had the pirates’ armada. Even the five would attack if they thought the Ironborn had raised their swords against Brienne.

That meant she would have to take the dragons into the city. Where was there a place safe for the dragons to stay but large enough so they didn’t feel caged or threatened? It suddenly came to her, the one place in King’s Landing that was large and safe enough for the small dragons. It was also where rulers commanded attention. Brienne had to get Cersei’s and Jaime’s attention and focus it on their true goal. She had to get _everyone’s_ attention. The threat they refused to accept wouldn’t stop because of their blind ignorance or selfish ambitions. The entire realm was at risk. She had to make them see there was far more at stake than egos, crowns and thrones. That was exactly what she would do. 

“Sōvegon, zaldrīzoti!” Brienne commanded.

The dragons rose, one at a time, ensuring Brienne was under their protection as they took flight. Brienne walked carefully around the bodies strewn on the ground. The sooner the dragons were out of the way, the sooner help would arrive for the injured. Everyone would calm once the dragons were removed. And the dragons would relax when they were away from the blood and aggression souring the air in the pit. 

Once clear of the prison that had doomed dragons of the past, she strode towards the heart of King’s Landing. The five flew in an arrow pattern high above her head, far out of the reach of the people running to or away from their balconies and climbing onto roofs. A dark shadow covered her. Brienne looked up at Drogon and Rhaegal hovering over even higher up, guarding the young dragons as they guarded her. The larger dragons’ wings cast a shadow so wide, it seemed all of Rhaenys’s Hill fell into shade. 

People cried out as she walked down the Street of the Sisters, alongside Flea Bottom, towards the center of the city. It was a wave of sound that washed outwards, quiet whimpers close to her then building as the whispers turned to screams further away. Some people froze where they were, either terrified or awestruck. Others ran away, clearing Brienne’s path. Some even fell to their knees or bowed, calling out for the Dragon Queen.

They thought she was Daenerys, coming to take the Iron Throne from their hated Queen Cersei. Brienne had blonde hair, Targaryen blood and, of course, dragons at her back, but she was no conqueror. Her desire was to serve, not to rule. She was the Gods’ warrior, an instrument of their will. They wanted her to create a force strong enough to defeat the Night King and his Army of the Dead. Cersei and Euron refused to listen, to look beyond their own ambitions and desires. It was up to her to _make_ them listen.

The Gold Cloaks met her when she arrived at the Guildhall of the Alchemists. She could see the ruins of the Great Sept of Baelor beyond it. A sharp left turn would lead her to the Red Keep, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms. The Gold Cloaks were out in force, but they were sweating and shaking, half of them so frightened they could barely hold their swords steady.

“Put down your weapons. The dragons will not hurt you unless you attack first.” Brienne raised her voice to be heard by the masses surrounding them. “Put down your weapons and let me pass peaceably. I mean you no harm. I’m trying to protect the citizens of King’s Landing.”

People surround them, silent and watchful. Brienne stood her full six-foot, three-inch height, sure in her mission. The guards, already wavering, looked around at the gathering crowd, at the awe and fear on their faces, then at the dragons overhead. The Gold Cloaks threw down their swords and backed away from Brienne. 

Brienne nodded and turned for the Red Keep. The dragons protected her from the air, while bedraggled and undernourished citizens followed hesitantly behind her, keeping far back from the dragons. Even higher up in the sky, Rhaegal roared. Drogon hovered over the young dragons, while Rhaegal flew ahead to the Red Keep. It landed on one of the seven towers and roared again, announcing to one and all the dragons, after an absence of over three hundred years, once again flew over King’s Landing. 

As she neared it, Brienne saw the doors of the castle thrown open. Servants, nobles and guards shoved each other in their rush to empty the Red Keep. Rhaegal stretched out its wings, turned its head to the sky and blew out a stream of fire. Drogon roared in response. The five added their squawks, their juvenile voices no less intimidating.

Brienne mounted the steps and stopped in front of the open doors. People who had been trying to escape the castle turned and ran back inside. Drogon flew up to join Rhaegal, landing on the opposite tower. The five landed around Brienne, taking the same defensive positions as before, encircling her, ready to protect her from any threat. Brienne turned to the crowd gathering at the steps of the castle. 

“Citizens of King’s Landing, you have nothing to fear from these dragons.” Brienne raised her voice to be heard by as many as possible. “They are a gift from the Gods to protect us all in our time of need. Kings and Queens act from their own emotions and prejudices. The dragons will not.” She laid her hands gently on Allwyn and Gallan. “Accept them and they will accept you.”

Some people watched silently, others murmured amongst themselves and some sobbed. Many held up small children, allowing them to more clearly see the drama and majesty of the Gods’ gift. Slowly, the human mass began to come closer to the stairs, reluctant hope and hesitant smiles charging the atmosphere among the people. 

There was a disturbance in the crowd. The Queensguard, led by Gregor, rudely pushed people aside to make a path to the steps. Cersei, Jaime and Euron were enclosed in their midst. Beyond them were the other parlay participants. The people watched in silent awe as the big, brawny Dothraki, taller, darker and stronger than most men in Westeros, marched forward, Daenerys and Jon in the center of their group. Brienne frowned, turned and strode into the Red Keep. The little dragons squawked and followed after her. 

The Great Hall was silent and empty, enormous in size and stature, decorated with red and gold Lannister banners. A long carpet ran the length of the room, ending at the steps of the Iron Throne. The throne itself was a towering monstrosity, created to intimidate, not to impress. A set of rickety steps led to the seat set nearly fifteen feet above the floor. It was made even taller with the mass of swords above it, an asymmetric crown of thorns. The structure was so tall it even blocked the stained-glass window depicting the seven-pointed star, the symbol of the Faith of the Seven. 

King Aegon the First had fused in the swords of his enemies, more than a thousand of them, to build this throne. His arrogance had been so great, he’d even elevated himself higher than the symbol of the Gods; held himself higher than the Gods themselves. Aegon had taken from his enemies, and his perceived enemies, to build a monument to himself. Rumor had it, King Aerys, the Mad King, had continued the tradition. The Iron Throne was the ugliest thing Brienne had ever seen, built on the blood and suffering of others.

She crossed silently on the thick carpet and stared at the stairs. Set on a raised dais, even the steps were treacherous, narrow and uneven. The dragons hissed and puffed, circling the throne as if facing a dangerous enemy. Catren descended and landed on the seat of the Iron Throne before Brienne could stop it. The dragon suddenly yelped and rose, wings flapping furiously.

“Catren!” Brienne raced to the top of the steps, the dragons circling around her. 

She knew instantly what had happened. The horrible throne had steel fangs built into the back. Aegon had done so deliberately to remind all future kings never to sit easy while on the throne. The spikes had hurt Catren. This abomination was a torture device, not a prize to be fought over and killed for. 

Brienne sat gingerly on the seat and held out her arms. Catren flew into her embrace while the other dragons landed on the steps below, hissing angrily at the sharp swords surrounding them. Brienne checked Catren and found a small scratch on the underside of its tail. Outrage pounded through her veins at the sight of the tiny injury. The damned throne, created out of the arrogance of a king who believed himself superior to other men, had tried to take blood from her dragon!

“How dare you!” Cersei’s voice vibrated with her fury. “Get off my throne!”

Brienne looked up. She could see the full hall from her vantage point. How could a ruler, seated on this symbol of man’s egotism, have compassion when they were so removed from those far below? She watched Cersei, Jaime, Euron and the Queensguard file into the hall. Jon, Daenerys and their entourage followed closely behind them. Cersei stalked halfway across the room, Gregor following at her heels, before she suddenly stopped. Somehow, she’d forgotten Brienne had dragons. Cersei flushed with rage; her hands clenched into fists.

“Only the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms or her Hand is allowed to sit on the throne,” Cersei hissed. “You are not worthy of the honor.”

“This throne is no honor, it’s a horror.” Brienne stroked her thumb over the scratch on Catren’s tail. “King Aerys was called ‘King Scab’ because he had so many cuts from this throne. It’s also been said the blood caught in the swords sickened those who sat here, magnifying their worst traits. Aerys was a benevolent ruler who turned into the Mad King. Robert went from a warrior to a bloated glutton. Joffrey became even more cruel and arrogant. Tommen became meeker and more subservient, and you…”

Brienne stopped speaking to look at the current Queen of Westeros. Cersei was incandescent in her fury, her cheeks flushed bright red, her eyes spitting wildfire, her body stiff and tight, hands curled into white-knuckled fists. Brienne could hear her labored breath from even her high perch.

“Ser Gregor, remove her from my throne!” Cersei ordered.

“Those dragons will burn you to ashes before you reach the foot of the stairs,” Jon warned. “You won’t survive an encounter with them.”

Cersei looked from Jon to the dragons. Gregor took several lumbering steps closer to the throne. Ardayn and Serdun, seated closest to the bottom of the stairs, squawked and released streams of dragonfire. Their flames, while weak compared to Drogon or Rhaegal, were more than enough to burn a man, even a creature like Gregor had become, to nothing. Had Gregor been a few meters closer, he would have been engulfed in flames.

“Ser Gregor, return to me!” Cersei called. 

Gregor turned around and went back to Cersei’s side. The current queen glared up at Brienne.

“This was your plan all along,” Cersei snarled. “All this talk of the Night King, ceasefires and cooperation were just a ploy to enter King’s Landing. You’re working with that Targaryen bitch. You want to give her my throne. I won’t allow it!”

“Catren flew up here,” Brienne tried to explain. “I came to retrieve the dragon.”

“This is about greater matters than who sits on the Iron Throne. We’re serious in our desire for a ceasefire,” Jon insisted. “We need to join together to face the greater threat.”

“There is no greater threat than that foreign scum,” Cersei hissed. “I won’t allow her to sit on the Iron Throne.”

“I gave you my word,” Daenerys snapped. “My first priority, like King Jon’s, is to band together to fight for the living. Otherwise, I would have already killed you and taken the Iron Throne.”

“Your word is meaningless as you are,” Cersei snapped. “I won’t allow a foreign usurper to defile my throne.”

“Foreign usurper,” Daenerys repeated. “My family sat on the Iron Throne for hundreds of years.” 

“Until a Baratheon dethroned your family,” Cersei pointed out. “They were false kings.”

“Now I’ll take it back,” Daenerys’s smile was a sharp as a knife point, “from a false Baratheon.” 

“I’m not false,” Cersei spat, “I’m the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“You bear Lannister colors,” Daenerys swept her hand out to the banners hung around the hall. “And you bear Lannister bastards. You are as false as your claim to the Iron Throne.”

“How dare you!” Cersei advanced on Daenerys. “I won’t hear you!”

Qhono immediately stepped in front of Daenerys. Jaime pulled Cersei back, trying to calm her. The Queensguard and the Dothraki lined up in front of their respective queens. Jon and Tyrion both spoke, trying to soothe the situation. Euron crossed his arms and grinned, looking from one side to the other, enjoying the spectacle. Jorah, Missandei, Davos and Varys stood behind Daenerys, silent and watchful, not adding to the chaos but not trying to stop it, either. Qyburn stood behind his enraged queen, equally useless. Sandor was far in the back of the room, grim-faced, watching the dragons as if fearing they would suddenly fire on him.

Brienne gritted her teeth. Before her were two kings, two queens, their advisors and their guards. These were the people who held the fate of the realm in their hands. Yet they couldn’t put aside their personal grievances and ambitions for the common good. They still insisted on fighting for an ugly, painful throne instead of for the people. 

_“They forgot kingship is a duty, not a right.”_

Griff understood what these people didn’t. They had forgotten they ruled for the people, not for their own personal glory. Cersei and Euron, and even Daenerys, fought for power and the vicious symbol of that power. They spoke of it with such reverence, tones which should only be used to describe the mightiest of all, the Gods themselves. Instead, the kings and queens sat on this towering monstrosity, making those they should protect appear small and insignificant. They didn’t want to rule wisely, they didn’t want to earn the love of the people, they didn’t even want to observe the authority of their own Gods. 

All they wanted was a vicious throne that leeched blood and sanity from all those forced to sit upon it. The Iron Throne took their humanity and left behind senseless lust. Why couldn’t Cersei and Euron, even Daenerys, see reason? They’d walked past the people, seen those whom they should be protecting, and had already seen what they were fighting against. Still, they’d pushed aside the people and saw only their own desires. This throne was what they wanted. Even the awe inspired by the dragons wasn’t enough to break their attraction to this horror.

The Iron Throne was what kings and queens wanted, what they fought over, what they would kill for. Its sickness has already infected their minds. The Gods had given her the order and expected her to carry out their will. The people saw her and understood she’d come to help them. How could she do so if she couldn’t make their rulers see reason? She wasn’t Griff, she didn’t have his ability to persuade people. Jon was trying but his lone voice wasn’t enough to break through the lust inspired by this throne.

Cersei turned back to glare at Brienne and the young dragons. “Get off my throne and leave my kingdom before I have you dragged out.”

“With what army?” Tyrion snorted. “There is no force in King’s Landing, or anywhere for that matter, strong enough to stand against dragons. They won’t leave until they want to leave. But,” he swept out his hand in invitation, “you’re welcome to go to them and try.”

Cersei looked from her brother to the Iron Throne, her mouth open, her eyes glazed over, as the realization finally sunk in. Her Queensguard, her Gold Cloaks and even her army couldn’t stand against dragons. Drogon _alone_ had destroyed more than half the Lannister army. Now, an entire squadron of dragons had invaded Westeros. She was no longer Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The dragons controlled the Iron Throne.

Brienne took a deep breath, whispering her thanks to the Gods. The dragons had made Cersei see reason. The throne was only a possession, easily taken. They had to fight for the living, not for symbols. Maybe now the monarchs were ready to listen and work together.

“Sȳrī gaomagon, Catren.” Brienne murmured, stroking the dragon’s scratch one last time.

Brienne stood and sat Catren back on the throne, careful to keep the dragon’s tail away from the spikes. She made her way gingerly down the steps, stroking and praising each dragon as she went past them, trying to calm them. They still hissed at the sharp spikes that had hurt Catren, had tried to bleed one of their own. The dragons could sense the chair for the evil it was, smell the centuries of blood and tears spilled to create it, feel the madness it generated. 

Once at the bottom of the narrow, hazardous steps, Brienne turned back to the dragons. They looked from the sharp swords to her then back to the ugly monument of a king’s cruelty to those crushed under his will. She returned her attention to the bickering rulers and accidentally scratched her hand alongside a sharp sword. Brienne gasped and snatched her hand away. The scratch was minor, so shallow it didn’t draw blood, but the result was shattering. 

The dragons screeched, rose and circled around her. By the time she understood their intention, it was too late. The five fired on the ugly Iron Throne of blood and swords. The towering structure, like the kings it elevated or people it subjugated, collapsed under a power greater than crowns and rulers. 

Suddenly, glorious light flooded the hall, forcing everyone to shade their eyes and blink rapidly to adjust to the brilliant brightness. The stained-glass window, no longer blocked by the throne, now dominated the room. The sun, perfectly positioned to shine through the glass, caused the seven-pointed star design to spill color, warmth and brightness through to the very end of the throne room. The Gods reclaimed their dominion over King’s Landing. The Iron Throne fell to their will and their gift, the resurgence of the dragons. 

In the end, the Gods and their dragons would always be more powerful than men and their swords.

 

Translations:  
Protct yeri khaleesi = Protect your queen  
Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa = Dragons, come to me  
Sōvegon, zaldrīzoti = Fly, dragons  
Sȳrī gaomagon = Well done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry I missed the Sunday posting. I had family obligations that took up most of last week. I hope this extra-long chapter made up for the wait. I’m without a beta this week so please let me know if I need to make any corrections.
> 
> What did you think of the burning of the Iron Throne? Did you expect it to happen so soon in the story? Did you like Brienne’s decision to take the young dragons into King’s Landing? 
> 
> This story is based on the TV show but I used the Iron Throne from the books. It works better for my plot. Please see the _Wiki of Ice and Fire_ for an illustration:
> 
> https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Iron_Throne
> 
> I used the picture of King Tommen and his kittens as my inspiration for the Iron Throne and the throne room.


	18. Throne Room Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Euron looked at them with undisguised lust, his eyes darkening with unholy desire. The dragons extended their wings, stretching themselves to their full, impressive stature. Brienne had the urge to hold them close and protect them from the naked wanting in the Ironborn king’s eyes. Not that the dragons needed protection. They hissed and swished their tails, easily the most dangerous creatures in the room.

### Chapter 18 – Throne Room Keeper

“No!” Cersei’s voice throbbed with rage and command. She held her hands up to shade her eyes from the combined brightness of the dragons’ fire and the newly dominate stained glass window.

“The dragons landed on the throne and it scratched one of them,” Brienne tried to explain. “They don’t mean –"

“I don’t care!” Cersei snapped. “Make them stop!”

Everyone watched the collapse of the Iron Throne. Most, like the Dothraki, Missandei, Jorah, Davos, Qyburn and Varys, viewed the burning impassively. The Queensguard and additional Lannister guards used the distraction to shift further away from the dragons. Jaime and Sandor seemed to be lost in past horrors, eyes seeing the fire but blank and unblinking. Cersei shook with impotent fury, Daenerys grimaced with frustration, Tyrion frowned regretfully, Jon was as somber as usual while Euron… Brienne shuddered at the dark lust in the Ironborn king’s eyes as his gaze darted between her and the dragons. Euron was aroused by the power of the dragons.

Brienne turned back at the five. They squawked and flew in circles, around the steps and over the crown of swords, keeping her in the circle of their fire ring. Some of the swords melted easily, running down the steps in molten streams, while others appeared to be made of stronger material. 

“Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa!” Brienne called.

The dragons squawked didn’t come down to her. They were determined to destroy any weapon that could further hurt them or Brienne. Thick plumes of black smoke began to fill the hall. The kings, Cersei and their entourages began coughing and choking.

“Open the doors and windows,” Qyburn commanded. 

The Lannister guards practically ran in their haste to get away from the dragons. They opened the doors and windows, standing in the open doorways instead of inside the room. Cersei didn’t notice their eagerness to stay as close to exits as possible. Her focus was on the dragons melting the only tangible symbol of her control over King’s Landing.

“They’re destroying the Iron Throne. Stop them!” Cersei commanded, gasping in the smoke. 

“How?” Tyrion demanded, coughing. “Dragons don’t fall under the rule of men.”

“This is your fault,” Cersei accused Daenerys, trying to wave away the smoke. “They’re your dragons. You’re responsible.”

“Perhaps you should try to command them yourself,” Daenerys suggested coldly, unaffected by the smoke and fumes. “They may stop firing on the throne and burn you instead.”

Brienne ignored them to focus on the dragons. She had to skip away to avoid the river of molten metal running down and melting the staircase. By doing so, she widened the dragons’ circle, forcing them to choose between her safety and their vengeance.

“Sȳrī gaomagon,” Brienne tried again. “Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa!”

The dragons finally left the remains of the throne to return to her defense. Catren landed in front of her as before but this time the others landed in an arrow formation, with Allwyn and Gallan on either side of Brienne, facing forward while Serdun and Ardayn stationed themselves just behind and outside of them. Brienne stared at the five. They knew there was no threat from the still molten, dripping throne and had adjusted their defensive stance accordingly. 

Griff had taught them battle strategy. How had he done that? Brienne had thought the dragons had _left_ Griff to return to her. Could it be that Griff had trained the dragons and _sent_ them to her? Her heart beat faster. The last message from Griff had come suspiciously quickly. That wouldn’t have been possible if he was still in Valyria. Was he closer to her, perhaps already in Westeros? Had he known she would need help and sent the dragons to her?

Outside, Drogon and Rhaegal roared, dragging Brienne’s thoughts back to the present situation. Everyone froze but the bigger dragons didn’t react beyond their roars. Brienne relaxed and looked down at the younger dragons. Drogon had sensed, through the magical connection the dragons had, that the five were no longer distressed. They didn’t need Drogon and Rhaegal’s help. They were still alert and ready but no longer blasted on the throne they so hated. 

The young dragons had destroyed a coveted symbol of the ruler’s authority. Even Daenerys had wanted to sit on the Iron Throne. Now it was reduced to smoldering metal, the seat and iron steps unrecognizable lumps, most of the swords reduced to puddles that covered the stone steps at the base. What was the punishment for destroying a revered monument? Would anyone attempt to punish the young dragons? Did they understand Drogon and Rhaegal would bring the entire Red Keep down around them if they tried?

“The dragons were threatened by the throne,” Brienne tried to explain. “They’re very young and don’t always understand—”

“They understand perfectly,” Jon interrupted, his eyes shining. “They’re intelligent, intuitive and brilliant.”

“What?” Brienne stared at the King in the North. 

The other rulers were upset by the destruction of the symbol of Westerosi power. Jon, however, looked as delighted as if the dragons had handed him a great victory. His normally dark, serious eyes were shining with uncustomary pleasure and relief. He strode forward until he was mere meters away from the dragons.

“Brienne, look!” Jon urged her.

She turned to look. The Iron Throne was now a mass of melting, cooling metal but throughout, many of the swords remained proudly standing, unharmed by the dragonfire. Brienne’s eyes widened as she understood what she was seeing. 

“Valyrian steel,” she gasped.

“Yes. The dragons found the missing Valyrian steel swords.” Jon took a small step closer, wary of the defensive five. “There must be hundreds of them.”

Brienne looked down at the dragons. They widened their battle formation, spreading out to look beyond Jon for possible threats. They were as intelligent, intuitive and brilliant as Jon said they were. They knew the King in the North wouldn’t hurt Brienne so they’d shifted to watch beyond him for possible attacks. Had the dragons known what they were doing when they’d fired on the throne? Had the Gods commanded them to show the army of men the weapons they’d hidden so carefully through the ages?

“This helps, doesn’t it?” Brienne asked.

Jon smiled and nodded. He looked down at Brienne’s bodyguards and stepped closer. 

“Sȳrī gaomagon, zaldrīzoti,” he said quietly, repeating the words Brienne often used to praise the dragons. 

The five squawked in response. Catren stepped forward and the others followed, keeping their formation tight. Now Jon was behind them, while they faced the other direction, watching the room. The dragons hissed and puffed, but not at Jon. Their attention was on Euron, who had moved closer to the melted mass of the throne. 

“I thought there were only three dragons.” Euron stepped closer still, but remained well outside of the dragons’ fire range. “Why hasn’t anyone heard of these dragons?”

Euron looked at them with undisguised lust, his eyes darkening with unholy desire. The dragons extended their wings, stretching themselves to their full, impressive stature. Brienne had the urge to hold them close and protect them from the naked wanting in the Ironborn king’s eyes. Not that the dragons needed protection. They hissed and swished their tails, easily the most dangerous creatures in the room.

“They were too young,” Brienne answered. “They had to be kept secret to protect them until they were old enough to defend themselves.”

Euron shifted so he could watch Brienne and Daenerys at the same time. “Big woman, why do the dragons follow you if Daenerys is their queen?”

“Her name is Brienne,” Jon said as he studied the swords that remained intact and upright in the still molten metal.

“ _Lady_ Brienne,” Daenerys corrected, coming to stand beside Brienne. “She’s the daughter of a lord and my blood. Treat her with due respect.”

Their relation must have sounded odd to others. Tall, broad, masculine Brienne beside the tiny, delicate, elegant Dragon Queen. No one would believe they shared blood. Brienne wouldn’t have believed it herself if it weren’t for the blood of the dragon. It gave her the gift of the dragons but it hadn’t given her any of the famed Targaryen beauty. Still, Euron looked at her as if she were the most fascinating woman in the world.

“Well, Lady Brienne, I’m impressed.” Euron’s gaze glittered as he observed her. “Back on the Iron Islands, we respect powerful women. We only have one use for little princesses and not for long. Delicate ladies don’t last with the Ironborn.”

“She’s a pawn for the foreign scum,” Cersei snapped. “We have nothing to say to them, Euron.”

“It’s _King_ Euron.” He didn’t even bother to look at Cersei. “I’m the ruler of the Iron Islands and control the most powerful naval fleet in the known world. Show _me_ respect.”

Cersei stalked over to him, Gregor at her back. The Lannister soldiers stationed themselves in the doorways, far away from the dragons. The Queensguard hovered behind Cersei but stayed far from the dragons, too. Only the Dothraki focused on protecting their queen who, ironically, was the only person who _didn’t_ need protection from dragons. 

“I’m the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” Cersei reminded him. 

“No, you’re not.” Euron laughed, an ugly, mean-spirited sound. “Those dragons melted the Iron Throne while you couldn’t do anything but watch. You’re completely useless to me now.”

Cersei hissed in a sharp breath. “I can have you executed in an instant.”

“Like how you could command these dragons to stop firing on the only thing worth having in this shithole of a city?” Euron taunted. 

“Ser Gregor will remove your head in a single blow,” Cersei snarled, “or with a thousand small cuts if I order him to.”

“If he sheds blood in front of Lady Brienne, her bodyguards will burn him, and you, to ashes.” Euron sneered. “You and your creature have already threatened her. They’re just waiting for an excuse to blast you.”

Cersei’s eyes widened. She looked down at the dragons, their cold, reptilian eyes glittering with bloodlust. She took a large, prudent step backwards. Gregor shifted back accordingly, closing the gap between himself and his queen.

“You have nothing,” Euron continued. “Your army is a few hundred bannermen who only come because you threatened their wives or children. Your Gold Cloaks shat on themselves when the dragons passed. Your Queensguard are shitting themselves now.”

“You can’t speak to your Queen like that.” Jaime finally broke free of the odd stupor he’d been under since the dragons began firing on the Iron Throne. “She’s your –”

“She’s a washed-up old cunt who hasn’t figured out she’s lost,” Euron interrupted. “She has no army, no allies, shitty guards and a cripple trying to hold it all together.”

“No one is forcing you to stay,” Jaime growled. “Leave now.”

“Now, when things are finally getting interesting?” Euron laughed his mean-spirited laugh. He looked at the dragons again. “Tell me, Lady Brienne, why do those dragons protect you and not Queen Daenerys?”

Brienne glanced down at the dragons. They were no longer puffed up but they were still in their formation, ready to strike. Jon and now Jorah were behind them, inspecting the swords, but the five knew they weren’t a threat. The dragons were focused on the Ironborn king who looked at them and at Brienne with far too much intensity. 

“Of course, the young dragons protect her.” Daenerys’s voice dripped condescension. “She’s their mother.”

“Mother?” Jaime’s eyes widened. He jerked back, as if hit by an unseen fist.

“Mother?” Euron repeated and laughed with genuine amusement. “So, Kingslayer, you’re not the only one who hid your bastards.”

“The dragons are not bastards.” Brienne instantly defended them. “They’re born of magic. Magic legitimized by the Gods themselves.”

“The Gods, huh?” Euron grinned, showing off his yellowing teeth. “I don’t follow the Faith of the Seven, my Lady.”

He probably though his smile was charming but it made the hairs on the back of Brienne’s neck rise. The dragons were similarly affected, puffing up again, tails swishing warningly. She moved between Catren and Allwyn, the two most excitable dragons, putting her hands on their necks to calm them. 

“The Drowned God also legitimized the dragons,” she informed him. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? How do you know that?”

“It was a saltwater priest who started me on my journey to find them,” she informed him. “It was the Drowned God who kept us fed and hidden on the Narrow Sea until the dragons grew.”

“I am the Drowned God,” Euron boasted. “From Oldtown to Qarth, when men see my sails...they pray.” He took a small step closer. “That mean these dragons, and their mother, belong to me.”

Jaime hissed out his breath and flushed angrily. “Back off, Euron. She’s not for you.”

“She’s not for _you_ , Kingslayer,” Euron shot back. “I’m a King and I’m a God. By the authority of the Gods’ laws, Lady Brienne is mine.”

Brienne glared at the Ironborn king; her cheeks flushed with angry color. Still, she held herself tall and strong. She was no longer a shy, awkward maid. She was a warrior, the Gods’ warrior. Pompous, arrogant braggarts couldn’t intimidate or hurt her anymore. 

“The dragons and I belong only to ourselves,” she insisted. “We’re not the possessions of any man.”

“You and I together will be unstoppable,” Euron promised, taking another small step closer. “With my ships and your dragons, we’ll rule the world with our unmatched naval and air forces.”

The dragons hissed in warning and Euron stopped advancing.

“There is no ‘you and I’ nor will there ever be.” Brienne scowled. “These dragons will never become weapons in the wars of men.”

“They won’t be weapons,” Euron assured her. “They’ll be conquerors. I’ll tell them where to aim and they’ll destroy entire armies in minutes.”

“Not possible,” Brienne informed him. “The dragons only listen to me or to someone bonded to me.”

“Bonded?” Euron’s eyes darkened with lust. “And how does one bond with you, my Lady? Bond with me and I’ll lay the world at your feet.” 

“You can’t be serious,” Cersei snapped. “Look at her. She has no beauty, no charm. You can’t possibly want her.”

The unholy lust in Euron’s eyes didn’t diminish. “It's amazing how desirable a woman becomes when you see her through a blaze of fire.”

Brienne resisted the urge to step back, away from him. She had nothing to fear. It wasn’t possible Euron could ever bond with her or the dragons. There was no reason to hide the truth. She wasn’t any good at lying, anyway.

“A bond requires you love me more than you love anyone else in the world.” Brienne explained. “You must be willing to die for me.”

“The dragons can sense if a man loves you, is willing to die for you?” Euron snorted. “Is anyone bonded to you?”

Brienne nodded. “Yes, several people.” 

The young dragons treated Selwyn as an extension of Brienne, going to him for attention when Brienne couldn’t cuddle them all. Allwyn even preferred Selwyn’s wider lap for midday naps. Podrick had finally gotten over his fear of the dragons, mainly because they wouldn’t stay away from him. The five took turns draping themselves over his shoulders or nudging him up when he fell during his twice daily training sessions with Brienne. 

“Who?” Euron demanded, interrupting her thoughts. “Who’s bonded to you?”

“My father,” Brienne answered. “My squire and my –”

She stopped herself before she said ‘king.’ She has almost revealed the existence of the true King of Westeros. That slip could cost Griff his life. He didn’t have the dragons to protect him. They were here with her, well-trained and well-prepared to defend her. Then the realization hit her and she gasped. Griff, the future King Aegon the Sixth Targaryen, was able to command the dragons. 

It wasn’t because he carried the blood of the dragon. Daenerys had tried to call the five but they hadn’t responded to her. Even while on the _Sea Keeper_ , the dragons had only listened to Brienne or Griff. Not only could he command the dragons, Griff had even trained them. Brienne’s whole body became rigid. Was Griff _bonded_ to her? Would the future King of the Seven Kingdoms be willing to die for her? That must never happen. The world needed him too much to lose him.

“Who else?” Euron prodded. “Who else is bonded to you?”

Brienne pressed her lips together. Her cheeks flushed deeper with unwanted color. She hated to lie and was terrible at it. It was better to say nothing than risk exposing her future king. Euron laughed his ugly laugh and came to his own conclusion.

“So, you already have a lover, don’t you?” he guessed. “Of course. A smart man would do anything to put his mark on you.”

Behind him, both Jaime and Cersei jerked at Euron’s bold statement. Cersei gaped in insulting, wide-eyed shock, unable to believe anyone would want Brienne. Jaime’s face went rigid, mouth tight, eyes darkening dark green with distress and glittering with jealousy. 

“I’m not a slave,” Brienne protested. “No one marks me. Nor will I ever allow these dragons to be enslaved.”

“ _Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor._ ”

She could hear Griff’s voice in her head. He knew a dragon must not become a slave. Griff had never tried to use the dragons. He hadn’t even put them in enclosed spaces, except for those short moments when she and the dragons had to be smuggled into ports. He would never look at the five with Euron’s disgusting, undisguised intent.

“I’ll mark you,” Euron promised, coming closer to firing range. “I’ve had thousands of women. They never forget me. All of them leave my bed crying,” he paused, “for more.”

It was years of staying with bawdy soldiers that allowed Brienne to stand tall, not to cringe at the unsavory image. She didn’t doubt women cried in Euron’s bed. She did doubt they wanted more of this pompous, brutish oaf. 

“Are you prepared to die for me?” Brienne asked quietly.

Euron smiled his yellowing smile again and stepped closer. He put his arms out wide, as though he had nothing to hide. “Of course. For you, my Lady, I would die a thousand times.”

“One time will suffice,” she noted drily. “Take a few more steps and that time will be now. The dragons don’t believe you and you’re almost in their firing range.”

Euron’s eyes widened and he jumped back. Jaime, safely outside of the dragons’ range, snorted. Daenerys snickered. Further down the hall, Tyrion laughed out loud. Even Sandor chuckled from his post near the doors. Cersei could only stare at Euron, her jaw slack and her eyes squinted as if she couldn’t bring the scene into focus. Everyone else remained quiet, watching with amused interest. Euron’s face flushed with ugly color as he realized they’d all witnessed his humiliation.

“You’re making a mistake,” Euron warned Brienne. “I control the greatest armada Westeros has ever seen. With the _Iron Fleet_ , you own the seas!”

“Yes,” a voice called from the door. “We own the seas but you no longer control the _Iron Fleet_.”

Theon stood in the doorway, his clothes and sword stained in blood. He was breathing hard but his eyes glittered with victory. Everyone turned to watch him, except the dragons, who were still fixated on Euron. Theon bent his knee but Daenerys waived her hand.

“Arise, Theon,” she commanded before his knee even touched the floor. “Did you find Yara?”

“Yes, my Queen,” Theon nodded.

He came further into the room. His Ironborn officers followed in after him, their clothes also bloodied from battle. Like Theon, they looked tired but triumphant.

“Is she alright?” Jon left his inspection of the swords.

The King in the North strode past the dragons and towards Theon. Daenerys walked with him to meet Theon. Jorah, the Dothraki and her entourage kept pace, shifting their entire team, along with Davos, away from the remains of the Iron Throne. Cersei grabbed Jaime’s arm and pulled him back with her. Gregor went with her, blocking her with his large body. The Queensquard were equally eager to put more distance between themselves and the dragons. The Lannister guards remained in the various doorways, tense and ready to run at the first sign of dragonfire. Sandor was already outside the door, watching from the distance.

“She will be, your Grace,” Theon assured him. “She’s with the maesters now, surrounded by trusted guards.”

Jon came to his side. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

He put his hand on Theon’s shoulder and squeezed gently. Theon opened and closed his mouth twice before his words were audible.

“Thank you, your Grace,” he said. 

Jon nodded. “So, the _Iron Fleet_ is ours?”

“Yes, it is.” Theon turned to Daenerys. “My sister wanted me to inform you how eager she is to return to service, as soon as she’s able.”

“No!” Euron snarled. “I’m the Drowned God, I’m the Ironborn King.”

“You’re god of nothing, king of nothing.” Theon held up his blood-soaked sword. “Queen Yara will take back the Iron Islands in Queen Daenerys’s name.”

“Theon, put your sword away,” Jon ordered. “The dragons have already burned a thousand blades, just for scratching Brienne.”

Theon shook his head. “The dragons know who wants to hurt them. They know Euron is an evil that must be removed from this world.”

Euron crossed the room, pulling out his own sword. “Whelp, you think you can challenge me? I thought my last beating taught you manners. This time I won’t stop at a beating.”

Brienne grabbed Catren and Allwyn, her most excitable dragons and began to move back, trying to put as much distance as possible between the dragons and the upcoming combat. As she expected, Ardayn and Serdun, her most devoted guards, followed to keep her protected. Only Gallan, the calmest and most placid, was left in their previous position. 

“Gallan, māzigon naejot issa,” Brienne called softly.

Gallan came back to her and took point position. Brienne’s mouth dropped open. Not only did the dragons know defensive strategy but they even understood how to alter formation when needed. Brienne had a tight grip on Catren, normally the lead position. Gallan had taken that role to maintain their defense. 

Euron swung first but Theon blocked his thrust. Their swords struck sparks as they clashed against each other, grunting and pushing. The dragons hissed and puffed in warning. Catren and Allwyn pulled against Brienne’s arms. Ardayn and Serdun began to creep forward. Placid Gallan remained in his lead position, ready and watchful.

“No!” Brienne shifted to her knees, trying to reach the other dragons while not releasing her hold on Catren and Allwyn. She couldn’t hold them all. “Your Grace, help me, please!”

Everyone looked over to see Catren and Allwyn straining against Brienne’s hold. Cersei gasped and hid behind Gregor. Jaime backed away, his hand on the pommel of _Widow’s Wail_. The Queensguard flattened themselves against the far wall, along with the Lannister guards. Qyburn hid in the far corner, near the guards. 

“I’m coming, Lady Brienne.” Daenerys tried to go to her. 

“Khaleesi, no. It’s too dangerous,” Jorah insisted.

Her bloodriders and Jorah blocked her path. Missandei put her hand on her Queen’s arm. Jon frowned between Daenerys and Brienne, his focus on the battle between Theon and Euron.

“Ser Jorah, I must go to Lady Brienne and help her calm her dragons,” Daenerys insisted. “You saw what they did to the Iron Throne when it scratched her. Those dragons will burn this castle to the ground to protect their mother.”

Jorah looked from the battle between the Greyjoys to Brienne struggling with the dragons. He nodded and put himself between his queen and the combat.

“Reri gwe,” Daenerys ordered when her Dothraki guards tried to move with her. 

Jorah drew his sword, watching the battle as he kept Daenerys behind his back. Carefully, they shifted down the room. Theon battled his uncle down the hall, towards the ruined throne, with single-minded focus and rage-induced strength. Everyone, except the dueling Greyjoys, breathed a sigh of relief when Daenerys reached Brienne. 

Euron saw his opening, the brief second when Jorah relaxed, and kicked Theon back towards the dragons. Jorah moved quickly and caught Theon before he fell into the five. The distraction was enough to allow Euron to snatch Daenerys. The dragons hissed and puffed as the Dragon Queen was jerked away from them.

“No!” Brienne cried and lunged for Ardayn and Serdun. 

Jorah pushed Theon aside and faced Euron. Theon held his sword ready, too, but allowed Jorah to take the lead.

“Don’t be stupid,” Jorah growled to Euron. “Look around you. You won’t leave this room alive if you don’t let her go.”

The Dothraki bloodriders pulled out their swords. The Ironborn men did, too. 

“No! Put away your swords,” Daenerys ordered, trying to twist out of Euron’s grip. “ūndegon se zaldrīzoti!” 

Reluctantly, her guards put their weapons away. The Ironborn fighters also sheathed their blades. The Queensguard and the Lannister guards hadn’t bothered to pull out their swords. Ardayn and Serdun advanced, until they were only a step behind Gallan. Brienne held on to Catren and Allwyn as they strained to go to the defensive line. They squawked and began to drag Brienne forward. 

“Keep them back,” Euron ordered. “They fire on me and they’ll burn your precious queen.”

Still Catren and Allwyn advanced, dragging Brienne with them. Brienne had nothing to grip to hold them back, sliding on her knees along the polished floor. Serdun and Ardayn shifted to their normal positions to the outside of the formation. Gallan watched Euron steadily, reptilian eyes cold and assessing.

Euron right hand, wrapped around Daenerys’s waist, held his sword which he pressed against her cheek. His left hand, the one not holding his sword, ran offensively up Daenerys’s body. First, he squeezed her breast then reached up to wrap his hand around her throat. Jorah lunged forward but Euron used his right hand to hold out his sword.

“Don’t come any closer,” the former Ironborn king snarled. “I’ll choke her if you do.”

Then Euron made his fatal mistake. He turned his sword onto Brienne and the dragons. Gallan, closest to the threat, released a stream of dragonfire that caught both Euron and Daenerys. Euron screamed and released the Dragon Queen. Daenerys fell to the floor and quickly began to roll. Jorah knelt down beside her to help her pat out the flames. Euron, lacking Daenerys’s gift of withstanding fire, shrieked in agony, staggering forward, his body aflame. Everyone shied away as he fell into a burnt pile, the stench of burning flesh making them all gasp and cover their noses.

Gallan looked back and yelped. Brienne instantly released Catren and Allwyn. She held her arms out to Gallan. The blue dragon yelped again and flew into her embrace. 

“Sȳrī gaomagon, Gallan,” Brienne praised, holding the dragon tightly and rocking with it in her arms. “Sȳrī gaomagon.”

Gallan wrapped its tail around Brienne’s waist and rubbed its head against her tousled blonde hair. Catren and Allwyn joined Ardayn and Serdun on their defensive line, wings outstretched, adjusting to fill Gallan’s gap, bodies puffed, ready to protect Brienne from any threat.

Jorah stood up and helped Daenerys to stand. Her thick coat had burned off in places, exposing her pale, unmarked flesh. Jorah removed his cloak. She covered herself with it and smoothed down her disarrayed hair while everyone, except Jorah, the bloodriders and Brienne, stared at her in stunned silence. Missandei shook herself from her stupor and hurried over to assist Daenerys.

“Burn them all.” Jaime stumbled forward, his eyes dark and confused, unable to understand what he was seeing. “Aerys said to burn them all. He was insane. He wanted to be a dragon. He would have burned, too. Everyone would have burned. _Everyone burns_.”

“Not everyone.” Cersei's stunned expression matched Jaime’s. “Not her. She’s not burnt.”

“No.” Missandei spoke for the first time, her normally warm, sweet voice cold and unyielding. She faced the group, placing herself between them and Daenerys, shielding her queen. “She is Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, the _Unburnt_.”

“No, no,” Jaime whispered, eyes dilatated to almost black with deepening shock. “I stopped him. This can’t happen. I sacrificed my reputation, my honor, to stop him. But they don’t burn. He swore he’d return.”

He looked at the daughter of the Mad King, the man who had wanted to be reborn as a dragon to burn the world. The man Jaime had killed to protect the citizens of King’s Landing. The Mad King’s daughter didn’t burn. Brienne’s heart ached at the agony on Jaime’s face. He’d endured a lifetime of unspoken sacrifice and undue shame, which he now thought to have been in vain. The dragons he’d tried to prevent from burning the world now ruled King’s Landing. Worse, she, his friend and confidant, with whom he’d shared his darkest secrets, was the mother of five of those dragons. 

Brienne could see the fear in his eyes, understand what he couldn’t put into words. Jaime thought Aerys had been reborn to take his vengeance.

After all he had sacrificed, would King’s Landing burn anyway?

 

Translations:

Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa = Dragons, come to me  
Sȳrī gaomagon = Well done  
Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor = A dragon is not a slave  
Reri gwe = Stay back  
ūndegon se zaldrīzoti!” = See the dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how am I doing? Do you like the story so far? Does it make sense? Please leave comments if I need to clarify points. I can add those explanations in future chapters. 
> 
> I’m without a beta again this week. Let me know if I need to make any corrections. 
> 
> Two problems have been solved for the Armies of Men. They now have powerful weapons to arm themselves for the Great War. Also, Euron has been removed. The _Golden Company_ can safely travel to Westeros. 
> 
> But a new problem has arisen. How will Jaime, a key warrior in the fight against the Night King, reconcile his history with the Targaryens with his future fighting alongside them?


	19. Honor Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dragons are intelligent and able to reason. They understand human emotions because they have emotions, too. Look how clever they are. They know how to adjust their defensive stance to always keep Lady Brienne safe. They’re not evil, they’re not demons. They just want to protect the person they love most.

### Chapter 19 – Honor Keeper

“Ser Jaime,” Brienne pleaded, “it’s not what you think it is. The dragons won’t hurt you.”

Jaime turned from staring at Daenerys to Brienne. His eyes burned with wildfire seeing Brienne knelt on the floor with a dragon snuggling frantically in her arms and another four as her guards. His face drained of color.

“It’s too late.” His voice was hoarse and raw, almost as if he were choking. “They’ve already hurt, they’ve already killed. The big dragon burned half my army, good men, following orders.” He nodded to Gallan. “This one killed in an instant. Don’t you see? Dragons are evil. How can you be the _mother_ of such evil?”

“No, Ser Jaime, no!” Brienne shook her head, her voice cracking. “Please! Don’t say that!”

The dragons, picking up on her distress, began to hiss and swish their tails. The Lannister guards cringed. Cersei put her hand on Jaime’s arm, trying to pull him back. Jaime angrily shrugged off her hand. Cersei darted back to the protection of Gregor’s bulk.

“Where did you get them, Brienne?” Jaime demanded, his eyes wild and pupils enlarged. “How long have you had them? You said the Iron Throne corrupted kings’ minds. What does _birthing_ demons do? Wasn’t that what killed your _precious_ Renly?”

“The dragons aren’t demons, Ser Jaime,” Brienne insisted, nearing tears. “Drogon attacked your army during war. You and I have both killed our enemies. You said yourself, at the parlay, you thought we’d next see each other across a battlefield.”

“I didn’t think it would be so quickly or that you’d bring creatures from the Seven Hells with you,” Jaime snarled.

Brienne cried out as tears spilled from her eyes. The dragons puffed with aggression. Brienne grabbed Allwyn and held on tight to Gallan, still in her lap. She buried her face in Allwyn’s neck to hide her tears. The dragons squawked at Jaime, almost as if they were scolding him. Daenerys knelt in front of her, wrapping her arms around Catren and Serdun, soothing them. Only Ardayn, named to honor Jaime’s idol, was unaccompanied. Jon strode over to Jaime, putting Brienne and the dragons behind his back, shielding them from Jaime’s wrath. 

“Brienne is under the protection of House Stark,” Jon snapped. “If you insult her again, I’ll forget you’re a man of honor.”

“Man of honor?” Jaime’s laugh was almost as hateful as Euron’s had been. “Your dear father, the most honorable man in the Seven Kingdoms, has already judged me lacking. Ned Stark branded me the Kingslayer, an Oathbreaker, a man without –”

Jon punched Jaime, so hard Jaime’s body made a quarter-turn to follow the snap of his neck. Behind Jaime, Cersei gasped in outrage. Tyrion cried out in protest. Jon ignored them to focus on Jaime.

“Snap out of it!” The King in the North ordered.

Brienne also gasped at Jon’s brutality but his actions were what Jaime needed to break out of the shock that had gripped him. Blood flushed into his cheeks and the daze faded from his eyes, the dilated black contracting back to wildfire green.

“I…I,” Jaime shook his head as if to clear it. “What? I didn’t, I don’t…”

He trailed off to look past Jon to Brienne. Jon shifted aside, so he was no longer blocking her from Jaime. She raised her head from Allwyn’s neck, trying to subtly brush away her tears so he wouldn’t have to see them. 

Jaime’s eyes softened. “Brienne, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. It’s just so much to accept at one time.”

He stepped forward, hand outstretched, but the damage had been done. The dragons hissed and extended their wings, making it clear Jaime wouldn’t be allowed any closer to Brienne. Gallan wrenched out of Brienne’s arms to join the defensive line, equally ready to protect her from the man whose words had caused her such pain. 

Tyrion came over and put his hand on Jaime’s arm. Jaime, now coming out of his shock, nodded down at his little brother.

“Jaime, I know this is overwhelming,” Tyrion soothed. “But the dragons are not mindless killing machines. Some say they’re even smarter than humans because they can sense intent. Look at them. They didn’t attack you, even though your words hurt their mother. They only fire on those who they know want to harm her. It’s their instinct to keep Lady Brienne safe and happy.”

“Dear Gods.” Jaime’s eyes widened as his actions began to sink in. “I’m sorry, Brienne, please believe me.”

“It doesn’t matter if she believes you. Her dragons have already decided to keep you away from her,” Daenerys snapped over her shoulder, still holding tightly to Catren and Serdun. “I suggest you step back. They’re very strong.”

Jaime moved back, his mouth dropping open. The dragons calmed the further he was away from Brienne. They folded in their wings and relaxed. Everyone in the room relaxed with them. Cersei peeked out from behind Gregor. 

Jon stroked Ardayn’s neck. “Sȳrī gaomagon, Ardayn.”

The silver-grey dragon squawked and accepted the praise with its customary aplomb. The dragons spread out their defensive line to see beyond Jon.

“See, Jaime?” Tyrion’s voice was still low and soothing. “The dragons are intelligent and able to reason. They understand human emotions because they have emotions, too. Look how clever they are. They know how to adjust their defensive stance to always keep Lady Brienne safe. They’re not evil, they’re not demons. They just want to protect the person they love most.”

Jaime shook his head, his eyes dark and sorrowful. “Brienne…”

“It’s alright, Ser Jaime.” Brienne shook her head. “You were upset and you lashed out.”

“I had no right to lash out at you,” Jaime’s eyes shone with remorse. “I should have remembered your sense of honor, your character.”

“Instead, you remembered my father.” Daenerys straightened away from the now calm dragons and turned to face Jaime. “I know what he became. I understand and accept your reaction to me. But I will not tolerate another such attack on Lady Brienne.” She stepped closer Jaime. “Like the dragons, I protect my family. Lady Brienne is my blood.” 

Jaime nodded silently. Tyrion patted his arm. Cersei stepped out from behind Gregor but stayed a step behind him, in case she needed to hide again. The Queensguard and the Lannister guards relaxed noticeably, now watching Brienne with amazed interest.

“I think we should move this meeting to a more comfortable place,” Tyrion suggested. “We must discuss our strategy to defend the realm against the Army of the Dead.”

“I haven’t agreed to join you,” Cersei hissed from the relative safety of Gregor’s side. 

Daenerys shifted past Jaime to glare at Cersei. Tyrion pressed his hand to his chest, silently asking his queen for permission to handle the matter. Daenerys nodded. Tyrion turned to Cersei who lifted her chin in defiance, even while half-hiding behind Gregor.

“You haven’t agreed?” Tyrion shook his head. “Dear sister, it doesn’t matter if you agree or disagree. You’re no longer giving orders.”

Cersei’s face flushed. “You can’t take over my castle.”

“Actually,” Tyrion said cheerfully, “we already have. Now, we need to have someone remove Euron Greyjoy’s body. The smell is terrible.”

Qyburn stepped forward and spoke for the first time. “I can take care of that.”

Tyrion frowned at him. “Are you going to experiment on the body?”

Qyburn lifted his chin. “Scientific study is necessary to understand the effects of dragonfire on the human body. Perhaps it interacts differently than normal fire.”

Tyrion’s frown twisted, as if he was fighting to hold down his stomach contents. He looked to Theon, his eyebrows raised in question. Theon looked at his uncle’s body and sneered. 

“His next of kin has no objection.” Tyrion shrugged. “Please make arrangements to have the body moved to…wherever you wish to take it.”

Qyburn nodded and hurried down the hall, his steps so light and quick, he was almost skipping. As he neared the door at the far end, Bronn and Podrick met him at the doorway. Qyburn darted around them, ignored Sandor and hurried down the hall.

“That man is too happy,” Bronn noted. “Off to turn some ghosts back into the almost living, is he?”

Bronn took a few steps into the room then stopped, seeing the burned remains of Euron’s body. Podrick’s eyes widen and he hurried down the hall to Brienne.

“This looks familiar,” Bronn commented. “Kinda hoped not to see it again.”

“My Lady, Ser?” Podrick skirted the body, eyes wide. “Is everything well?”

Brienne stood up, finding strength to put up a strong front for her squire. “Everything’s fine now, Podrick. Euron Greyjoy assaulted Queen Daenerys then turned his sword on the dragons. They didn’t like that.”

“Dragons?” Bronn took a few more steps then stopped again, now seeing the dragons partially hidden behind Jon and Daenerys. “Fuck me.” 

The dragons screeched and puffed. Bronn’s eyes widened. He looked around the room, from the powerful bloodriders, to Jon and Daenerys with their entourages, to the Lannister guards pressed against the wall, Cersei hiding behind Gregor, Jaime and Tyrion standing side-by-side then, finally, at the remains of the Iron Throne. 

“Redecorating? Not my taste but I’ve never been much for art.” Bronn shrugged, struggling to assume his usual flippancy. “The sunlight certainly brightens up the place, though.”

Daenerys raised her eyebrows. “Lord Tyrion, who is this man?”

“This man, your Grace, is Ser Bronn of the Blackwater,” Tyrion explained. “He was recently knighted but his services can still be bought, for a fee.”

“Is this _the_ Ser Bronn you told me about? The one who saved your life in trial by combat in the Eyrie?” she asked.

“One and the same, your Grace.” Bronn swept into a low bow but stayed at the far end of the hall. “But don’t listen to his stories. Podrick is the one with a tale to tell. Three _tails_ at that.”

Everyone turned to look at the young squire. Podrick blushed under their inquiring gazes.

“We went to a brothel, to get some financial records…” Podrick began.

Daenerys raised her hand. Podrick stopped speaking, blushing deeper red. 

“I’m aware of Lord Tyrion’s proclivities.” The queen’s voice was cool. “I don’t need to hear anymore.” 

Bronn looked past the queen to the young dragons. “What happened to the big dragon?” 

Daenerys frowned at him, eyes narrowed, as if doubting his mental abilities. “You didn’t notice the large dragons outside?”

“Outside? We haven’t been outside.” Bronn came further into the hall, but remained on the other side of the room from the dragons. “Podrick said he wanted to take a walk, visit some of the sights. I thought he wanted to go to Chataya’s, but no, he wanted to go into the tunnels under the city. Instead of looking for new tail, he was looking for this stuff.”

Bronn pulled a small glass flask from the inside of his jacket. It was filled with an emerald green liquid. The recently anointed knight threw the sealed flask into the air.

“No!” Cersei cried.

Bronn caught the flask with a practiced hand. “Don’t worry, your Grace. I won’t drop it.”

He went to toss it again and Cersei screamed.

“Stop, you fool!” she ordered. “That’s wildfire. You’ll blow us all to the Seven Hells.”

“Huh? I thought it looked familiar.” Bronn held the flask up to the light. “If it’s so dangerous, why do you have so much of it under our feet?”

“Under our feet?” Jaime repeated. “Where? How much?”

“Everywhere. Shitloads of it.” Bronn waived the bottle at Cersei. “Somebody’s been very, very busy making their own version of dragonfire.”

“Don’t shake that, you idiot!” Cersei snapped. 

Jaime turned on his sister. “You’re stockpiling wildfire?”

Cersei’s eyes widened. “No, it was already there.”

“Not true,” Tyrion said quietly. “Wildfire darkens the more it ages. Look at how light that green color is. It can’t be more than a few weeks old.”

Jaime advanced on his sister, his eyes glittering with their own brand of wildfire.

Cersei blinked rapidly, like a doe instinctively freezing and telegraphing its distress through its eyes. “I…I didn’t know about it.”

“You didn’t know about it?” Jaime repeated. “You knew Bronn was giving me fighting lessons, you knew I met with Tyrion in the passageways, you boasted about how you know everything that goes on in the city, but you didn’t know about wildfire created under your nose?”

Cersei raised her chin but refused to speak.

“I used up almost all of the city’s stock of wildfire during the Battle of the Blackwater,” Tyrion explained. “I knew there wouldn’t be enough to blow up the Great Sept of Baelor, unless Cersei had more made. I sent Podrick into the tunnels look for proof of more wildfire.” Tyrion nodded to the flask Bronn held. “And he found it.”

Jaime’s face drained of all color. Cersei’s breathing became audible and she took a step back, to hide behind Gregor.

“You said the destruction of the Sept was a terrible accident,” Jaime accused. “You said you had men scour the tunnels to remove every trace of wildfire. Tommen died because of the destruction of the sept.”

“Tommen betrayed me!” Cersei burst out. “He chose that simpering bitch Margaery over me. He was going to send me back to Casterly Rock.”

Jaime and Tyrion both sucked in their breaths, horror making their mouths drop open. Everyone else watched them in shocked silence. Even the dragons were affected, sniffing the air and hissing softly. Brienne and Podrick shifted forward to touch the dragons, instinctively trying to reassure them their human family would never turn on them the way Cersei had on Tommen.

Tyrion recovered first. “So, you had your pyromancers make more wildfire, drew everyone into the sept then destroyed them all; friends, enemies, family and allies. But you missed Tommen.”

“No!” Cersei protested. “Ser Gregor kept Tommen back. I didn’t want him to die in –”

She broke off abruptly, realizing what she’d confessed. 

“You planned it.” Jaime swayed on his feet, as if the truth had shaken him to his very core. “You killed Uncle Kevan, Queen Margaery, hundreds of innocent people…”

“They weren’t innocent,” Cersei spat. “They all deserved to die. They cheered when the High Sparrow and his wretched followers humiliated me. They threw rocks and filth at me. None of them attempted to defend me.”

“And no one will,” Tyrion spat right back. “Jaime sacrificed his entire life for you. He gave up his chance to have a family of his own to join the Kingsguard to be with you. He lost his honor preventing Aerys from doing to King’s Landing what you did to the sept. Now you’ve taken Tommen from him!”

“How dare you speak my son’s name,” Cersei railed. “I will not hear it, not from you.”

“I loved Tommen and Myrcella,” Tyrion raged. “You know I did. You know it in your heart, whatever twisted, rotted bits of it are left. I loved those children. Now they’re gone. You’ve taken everything from Jaime.”

Cersei’s rage suddenly morphed into an eerie calmness. She placed her hand on her abdomen. Tyrion’s eyes widened as he stared at her midsection. 

“Not everything.” Cersei’s voice lilted, almost dreamy. “There’s still one yet to come.”

Tyrion took a step back. “You’re pregnant.”

“Yes.” Cersei smiled in triumph, stroking her hand over her ultimate weapon. “I haven’t taken everything from Jaime. In fact, I’m giving him the greatest gift. A child he can love and father openly.”

A chill slid down Brienne’s spine at Cersei’s maniacal smile. She appeared blithely happy in spite of admitting to the atrocity she’d committed. Brienne looked at Podrick. He looked back at her with equal shock in his dark brown eyes. The dragons shifted, their tails swishing, bodies stiff as they looked around for an unseen threat. Silently Brienne and Podrick gathered the five closer, trying to shield them from the madness in the former queen’s eyes. The dragons allowed it, drawing comfort from their touch, clearly disturbed by the unwholesome emotions radiating from Cersei.

Daenerys and Missandei knelt down beside them, as if also wanting to shield the young dragons. The bloodriders and Ironborn men surrounded them while Jorah, Qhono, Theon and Jon stood in front of them, protecting the most powerful, yet sensitive, creatures in the room.

There was dead silence for a moment, until Bronn tossed his flask again. “Seeing all the crazy in this family makes me almost rethink my plans to marry a high-born heiress.” He caught the flask. “Almost.”

Tyrion wrenched his gaze away from Cersei. His eyes narrowed as he studied the emerald green liquid. “That’s not really wildfire, is it?”

Bronn snorted. “Of course not. You think I’d be stupid enough to carry around unstable liquid death? Podrick explained everything to me in the tunnels then we listened in the hallway. But there’s still a shitload of it under the city, including under all seven gates. Someone needs to take care of that.” He looked around. “So, is anybody in charge around here?”

Tyrion looked at Daenerys. Daenerys looked at Jon. Jon looked back at her then shrugged. She nodded at Tyrion. Tyrion nodded back and straightened, looking taller and commanding.

“Yes. Queen Daenerys is the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms,” Tyrion announced. 

Cersei gasped. “I’m queen!”

Daenerys rose and went to stand beside her Hand. She glared Cersei down, an impressive feat, given how tiny the Dragon Queen was and how manic the former queen acted. Cersei looked around and, seeing no support from anyone in the room, slid back so she was half hidden behind Gregor.

Tyrion continued speaking. “Queen Daenerys won the throne, er, kingdom by right of conquest. Her dragons sit atop the Red Keep. Who here wishes to challenge the Dragon Queen?”

He looked around. Missandei and Jorah came to stand behind their queen. The Dothraki followed to line up in support of their Khaleesi, glaring at the Queensguard and the Lannister guards. The Ironborn looked to Theon. He nodded and they also joined Daenerys, Theon beside Jorah and Ironborn men beside the bloodriders.

Brienne looked at Jon. He caught her gaze and smiled reassuringly. He stood tall and straight, a king in his own right with Davos at his side. Jon shifted slightly, symbolically shielding Brienne and the dragons. Brienne’s tense muscles relaxed. Podrick looked inquiringly at her and she responded with the slightest shake of her head, the movement a mere hint of a gesture. He lowered his eyes and resumed stroking Catren and Allwyn. 

For a terrifying moment, Brienne had feared Daenerys would expect her, as her kin, to also stand behind the new Queen of Westeros. How could she stand behind Daenerys when she had pledged her loyalty to Griff? What would be his reaction to the latest development? How would either Targaryen hold Westeros with the threat of the Night King looming ahead of them? Was Griff already working on a strategy to defeat the Night King? How could he when he wasn’t here to strategize with them? Her king had to arrive soon. She couldn’t continue without him. 

Movement from the other side of the room brought Brienne out of her panicked thoughts. The Lannister guards looked at each other and slowly removed their swords. The bloodriders put their hands on their weapons but didn’t unsheathe them. The Lannister guards knelt with their weapons laid out on the floor before them, bending the knee to their new queen. Cersei cried out in frustration but was helpless to stop them. The Queensguard looked at Jaime for direction. 

Jaime turned to Tyrion. “What did you mean I lost my honor preventing Aerys from doing what Cersei did?”

“We know, Jaime.” Tyrion’s eyes became dark and somber. He left his queen’s side to cross to his brother. “We know what you did to save King’s Landing. The people of this city owe you their lives and they don’t even know it.”

Jaime’s expression was blank for a moment, as if he didn’t understand what Tyrion was saying. Then his eyes widened and he looked over at Brienne. She nodded, giving him a small, hesitant smile.

“Lord Stark rushed to judgement,” Jon said quietly. “It was a mistake. I want to –”

“A mistake?” Jaime interrupted him. “It wasn’t a mistake. It was the destruction of my life. I’m not a broken sword you can mend and reuse. King’s Landing still stands because of me. Your father didn’t care about how many lives I saved. All that mattered to him was that I’d broken a sworn oath. An oath to a monster who would have blown this city to the Seven Hells if I hadn’t stopped him.”

Jaime stopped, waiting for Jon’s reaction. The King in the North stood quietly, allowing Jaime to vent his frustrations. His calm acceptance seemed to anger Jaime more.

“Your father, the most honorable man in Westeros, tore away my honor, my future, without trial or even justification,” he snarled. “What is a knight without honor? I was crippled long before I lost my hand. I just didn’t realize it. I’ve been treated like shit for more than half my life because of your father’s _mistake_.”

Jon nodded, his expression somber. “I know all about living in shame.”

“Because you’re a bastard?” Jaime demanded. “You know nothing, Jon Snow. You still had a father who protected you, a future to go towards and people who admired you. Look at you now. You’re the King in the North. What have I become?” He held up his golden hand. “The same as I’ve always been; a cripple, a useless crippled knight.”

Brienne couldn’t stay silent any longer, not when Jaime was in such pain, raging at the injustices he’d endured. 

“You are not useless, Ser Jaime,” she protested. “You are a warrior. The Gods need you to fight in the Great War.”

“The Gods?” Jaime turned to her, careful not to come closer to the dragons. “What kind of Gods create wars and people insane enough to blow up innocents to satisfy their personal revenge?”

“The same Gods who gave them free will and choices,” she answered quietly. “The Gods who know so few people can control their own worst impulses, let alone anyone else’s. Those Gods have called upon you to be their warrior.”

“Me? That’s a jape.” Jaime stared at her. “How do you know what the Gods want?”

Brienne closed her eyes but knew the time had come to tell this truth. She opened her eyes to look directly at Jaime. “I know because I’m also one of the Gods’ warriors. They led me to the dragons, they made me their keeper, and they gave me the resources to keep the dragons safe.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Jaime demanded. “They gave you dragons. They just took from me.”

“They gave you what was necessary to become who they need you to be,” she disagreed.

“And what is that the Gods need me to be?” The harsh tone was one he hadn’t used towards her for a very long time. “What’s your proof?”

The dragons growled in warning, clearly not liking his sarcasm. Jamie blinked and leaned away. Brienne placed her hands on Gallan and Serdun, keeping them calm. Podrick had Allwyn in his lap and reached out to stroke Catren and Ardayn. Brienne kept her voice controlled, trying to project her conviction.

“When I first went to Essos, a Red Priestess told me where to find my guide.” She leaned closer, trying to look directly into his eyes, though they were across the room from each other. “I didn’t want to believe her until she recited the history of _Oathkeeper_. Then she told me you would soon carry _Widow’s Wail_ , because that’s what the Gods needed you to do. It’s on your hip now, just as she said. You’re one of the Gods’ warriors. You’re a part of their strategy to destroy the Night King.”

Jaime jerked back, his eyes widening.

“Don’t you understand, Ser Jaime?” she demanded. “We’re not asking for your help because we need your men or a ceasefire. As Euron said, you have almost no loyal bannermen. Cersei saw to that. Theon took back the _Iron Fleet_ so you have no allies. There’s only one resource we need from the Lannisters and that is _you_. We need Jaime _fucking_ Lannister fighting on our side.” 

For a moment there was only stunned silence. Everyone looked back and forth between Brienne and Jaime. Cersei’s mouth fell open as she stared at her brother. The Lannister men looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. The Queensguard moved forward, not closer to Cersei but behind Jaime. Brienne looked to Jon. The King in the North moved deliberately, closing the space between himself and Jaime.

“Will you join us, Ser Jaime?” Jon held out his left hand. “Will you help us win the Great War?”

Jaime looked from Jon to his outstretched hand then to Brienne. She held her breath, not daring to move. Jaime looked to Tyrion who nodded vigorously then finally to Daenerys. The Dragon Queen was quiet and still, allowing him to make his own decision. Jaime glanced back at Cersei who peeked out from behind Gregor. His mouth twisted with disgust. Finally, he turned back to Jon, then slowly, hesitantly wrapped his left hand around the king’s forearm. Jon’s normally somber expression relaxed with relief as he grasped Jaime’s arm in return.

The two men broke apart and nodded to each other. The Queensguard shifted behind Jaime’s back. The men slowly removed their swords, lay them on the ground before themselves and knelt towards their new queen. 

“No!” Cersei protested. “Jaime, stop them!”

“Shut up,” Jaime ordered, the wildfire in his eyes darker and more potent than the liquid death stored underneath their feet. “If you weren’t pregnant, I’d be tempted to strangle you here and now.”

Cersei’s matching green eyes suddenly darkened and dilated. She stumbled back, away from Gregor and Jaime, skin paling as if she’d just plunged into a waking nightmare. “Valonqar.”

“What?” Jaime stared at her. 

Tyrion sighed. “That old trope again? She’s been threatening me with it since I was ten years old. She bothered some old woods witch who told her she’d be murdered by a younger brother. She’s hated me since I was born so, of course, it had to be me.”

Cersei’s eyes remained dilated. “And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you.” 

Tyrion held up his hands and turned them for her. “Look at my hands, you idiot. They’re not large enough to choke you, though I wish they were.”

Cersei didn’t bother to look at Tyrion. She stared at Jaime as if he were the Stranger himself. Jaime stared back at her with utter disgust.

“Be thankful you’re with child,” he informed her. “That child is all that remains between us.”

“No!” Cersei protested. “Jaime, we belong together. We were born together. We’ll die together.”

“Not today.” Jaime held her gaze as he slowly, deliberately turned to Jon.

Cersei gasped but Jaime turned away from her. He moved to stand beside Jon, in opposition to his sister. That left only Cersei, Gregor and Bronn standing against Daenerys. Bronn held his flask up to the sunlight and pretended to admire it. Daenerys stared at him then frowned down at her Hand. Tyrion rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Yes, Bronn,” he said. “I’ll double what anyone else offers you.”

“It’s _Ser_ Bronn now.” Bronn reminded him before pocketing the flask. “And that price has gone up considerably, being that I’m an anointed knight and all.”

Tyrion nodded. “Yes, yes. You want a castle and a wealthy, high-born lady for a wife. It will be done.”

Bronn’s gaze slid to Brienne and the dragons. “Maybe a castle by the sea and a unique high-born lady.” He gave Jaime a bland smile as he came to stand beside him. “It seems I’m developing a taste for blondes, too.”

Jaime growled at him but Brienne’s focus fixed beyond them. Only Cersei and Gregor remained standing to face Daenerys. Cersei’s expression went from horror to disbelief, then melted into stark realization. Cersei had lost. Daenerys had cast her down and taken all that Cersei held in a single quick, quiet power play. She’d wrested control of King’s Landing from Cersei, without shedding a single drop of innocent blood.

Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the First of her Name, Queen of Westeros, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains, stepped forward to stand before the remains of the Iron Throne. The proudly unbent Valyrian steel swords formed a frame behind her, an honor guard that had withstood the ages and the madness of kings. She stood in the very center of the seven-pointed star reflecting from the newly exposed stained-glass window, radiant in its aura, the sun heating the glass to glow fire-red. She had fulfilled her destiny. The dragons were finally home. 

But one dragon was still missing. Griff’s right to rule was stronger than Daenerys’s but she’d already taken King’s Landing. How would the future King of the Seven Kingdoms react to his aunt seizing the Westerosi seat of power? The last time the dragons had gone to war amongst themselves, it had nearly destroyed House Targaryen. King Aegon the Sixth and Queen Daenerys the First could be the union that restored the Targaryens to their former glory. Or they could become the battle that destroyed the Seven Kingdoms. 

Brienne had sworn the young dragons would never be used in the wars of men. But how could she stop them from defending Griff, the man they saw as their father? What about Drogon? Would the big dragon turn against the young it had brought into the world? Did its loyalty to the Dragon Queen overwhelm the bond it has with the five? Was Westeros destined for another dance of the dragons? A chill went down Brienne’s spine.

Could it be the Night King wasn’t their greatest threat?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I didn't post a chapter on Wednesday. My betas and I are still getting back in sync after the past few weeks. I hope you enjoy the new chapter. Please feel free to share your reactions with me. I love to discuss plot points and will expand on points of confusion.


	20. Council Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’ll be remembered as the worst ruler in Westerosi history. The one who brought four of the seven kingdoms she was supposed to protect to ruin, lost another two then was slaughtered by the last. Given the terrible kings who came before you, that’s an accomplishment.

### Chapter 20 – Council Keeper

They regrouped in the small council chambers. Brienne and Podrick took the dragons to the furthest point in the room, by the windows. Still, the natural fear of dragons was clearly seen. Visibly shaking servants brought in trays of meats, cheese, bread and wine, glancing fearfully at the young dragons. The taste-testers gulped down food so quickly they were more likely to suffer from choking than poisoning. The five sat up alertly, positioned in a straight line in front of Brienne and Podrick, attentively watching the food being brought in. They were eager for a meal but far too protective to leave the defensive line.

The poor servant selected to bring the dragons’ food was sweating profusely, his hands shaking so badly the tray threatened to tumble from his grip. Podrick took pity on the boy and retrieved the tray before the servant came closer to the dragons. It was a good decision as Catren and Allwyn eagerly pounced on Podrick, trying to get to their meal. The servant gasped, shirking back, but Podrick only grinned. 

“Mind your manners,” Brienne scolded the dragons. “We’re among company.” 

Catren and Allwyn ruffled their wings, tossed raw fish into the air, then roasted and ate their meal in a single, impressive motion. They squawked with delight at the tasty treat. Placid Gallan watched them, waiting for his turn while diligent Serdun and Ardayn continued to guard their family from possible attack. Brienne pulled Catren and Allwyn to her, knowing the little actors would continue their drama as long as they had an audience.

“Gallan,” Podrick coaxed. “Dracarys.”

The blue dragon came to the bowl and accepted its meal politely, tossing, roasting and eating its dinner with practiced, economical motions. As was their preference, Ardayn and Serdun came last, waiting until the other three had returned to guard positions before leaving their posts. They didn’t need to be coaxed, taking their meal without fanfare. Once they finished, Brienne couldn’t resist the urge to pull them into her arms and hug them close. Serdun and Ardayn yelped softly, rubbing their heads against her hair. They cuddled with her for a moment, then pulled away to return to the defensive line. 

“Damn, they really are just children protecting their mother,” Bronn observed, his voice stripped of its usual flippancy. He turned to face Tyrion, seated across from him. “Magical, fire-breathing children but clever and trainable. They just need a strong foster father to teach them battle strategy.”

Jaime, sitting beside Tyrion, growled and glared silently at Bronn. 

“Nice try, Bronn, but no.” Tyrion rolled his eyes while holding up his wine glass. “They already have a strong mother to teach them defensive strategy.”

Actually, they had a strong father who had already taught them how to protect and defend their family. Brienne tucked her head, blushing when she realized she and the dragons were the center of attention. Some observers, like Bronn, or the servants and the guards outside the closed doors, watched them with awe and uncertainty. Others, like Daenerys, Davos and Missandei, smiled with indulgent amusement. Tyrion, like Jon, Theon and Jorah, viewed the dragons as powerful warriors to be treated with respect. The Dothraki and the Ironborn treated the dragons with the same focused calm they used on people. 

“What’s the bloody battle strategy?” Sandor, sitting as far from the dragons as possible, growled. “Are these dragons going to fight for us?”

“No!” Brienne’s head snapped up. “They’re too young. They know nothing about fighting in a war. I won’t allow it.”

“They’re trainable,” Sandor observed. “They can learn.”

Brienne’s flush deepened but with anger, not embarrassment. Jon spoke before Brienne could.

“No, we are not throwing ourselves thoughtlessly into battle,” the King in the North said. “We made that mistake before and it cost us a dragon.”

“A dragon?” Cersei, sitting on Jaime’s other side, with Gregor standing behind her, repeated. Her eyes glittered. “How?”

“Magic,” Daenerys snapped at her.

The new Queen of Westeros had changed out of her burnt coat and Jorah’s heavy cloak. She now wore a lighter gown of silver-grey, almost matching Ardayn’s coloring. The rest of the gathered team had removed their cloaks and furs, unnecessary in the late afternoon warmth of King’s Landing. The cold that had begun to press upon the North hadn’t made its way south yet.

Daenerys was seated at the far end of the table, the young dragons beside and just behind her, Tyrion at her right and Jorah at her left. Jon, the other ruling monarch in the room, sat at the other end, closest to the door. Davos was seated to his right and Sandor on the left. 

“Your Grace, you said the Night King was getting stronger,” Brienne reminded him. “How do you know?”

“I’ve gotten reports the dead have begun to rise beyond the Wall, south of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.” Jon sighed. “Fortunately, the Night’s Watch and the Wildlings know to use fire to destroy them. The attacks are limited and isolated, for now, but they need our help. We have sixteen unmanned castles along the Wall. We need to put armies there to watch for activity and be our first line of defense.”

“That’s not all we have to defend,” Varys said coming into the room.

Everyone turned to look at man known as the ‘Spider’ for his infamous web of informants and backstreet contacts. 

“When did you leave?” Tyrion demanded.

“When the dragons attacked the Iron Throne. The smoke irritated my lungs.” Varys put his hand to his chest. “One of my little birds came to me in the hall.”

“Your little birds are in short supply now,” Cersei gave him a cold, mocking smile. “My Hand cultivated them to our side.”

Varys calmly settled himself into the chair next to Sandor. “Then perhaps you’ll tell us about Dorne?”

“Dorne?” Cersei straightened in her seat. “Dorne has been dealt with. Ellaria Sands is a threat no more.”

“That only means Ellaria Sands isn’t a threat to _you_ , anymore,” Tyrion corrected. “But you did nothing to address the real problem. What about Dorne?”

“Their armies are gathering,” Varys said quietly.

Daenerys frowned. “We already knew that.”

“Yes, your Grace,” Varys agreed. “We just didn’t know the extent of it.”

Jon stiffened. “What is the extent of it?”

“Twenty thousand men are in Sandstone, while another twenty thousand march to Blackmont,” Varys announced, “with an open call in Essos for sellswords.” 

“They want to take the Reach, starting at Highgarden and Oldtown,” Jon surmised. “That will give them the most prosperous lands and richest city in the southlands. There are no armies to stand against them now that House Tyrell and their bannermen are gone.”

“What?” Jaime leaned forward in his chair. “Why would Dorne attack?”

“Dorne has been eager to destroy the Lannister family since the deaths of Elia Martell and her children at Ser Gregor’s hands,” Tyrion reminded him quietly. “They hold Father responsible for the attack and now blame Cersei for the death of Oberyn Martell. They know our dear sister has abandoned Casterly Rock, bankrupted Highgarden, lost the North and the Vale, destroyed the Tyrell armies and crippled the crown with massive debt to the Iron Bank. In short, they know our stupid, impulsive sister has no allies, resources or options. They plan to take as much territory as possible while also striking her in King’s Landing.”

“I did what I had to in order to protect our house,” Cersei hissed. “They were all my enemies.” 

“You’re about to end our house,” Tyrion corrected. “If Queen Daenerys wasn’t here to protect it, King’s Landing would fall to Dorne in mere _hours_. You’ll be remembered as the worst ruler in Westerosi history. The one who brought four of the seven kingdoms she was supposed to protect to ruin, lost another two then was slaughtered by the last. Given the terrible kings who came before you, that’s an accomplishment.” He snorted. “And you have the nerve to call Jaime the stupidest Lannister.”

Cersei hissed in her breath and glared daggers at her youngest brother. Jaime looked between them, his eyes widening as he finally understood the enormity of the near-disaster Cersei, and his blind faith in her, had almost caused. 

“Will they still try to strike once they learn I’m now Queen of Westeros?” Daenerys asked. “Should we send an envoy to them to try to avoid the conflict?”

Sandor snorted. “Dorne doesn’t want an envoy. They want Cersei and my brother’s heads on spikes to decorate Sunspear.” He gave his brother an ugly smile. “I say we send them, with our regards.”

Cersei leaned back in her seat and placed her hand protectively on her abdomen. Gregor growled but remained standing tall and strong behind Cersei. Jaime and Tyrion both stared at their sister then back at Sandor.

Daenerys looked thoughtful. “That could be enough to bring Dorne to our side. I’m agreeable to sending their heads, with or without bodies, if it will avoid a war that will be detrimental to both sides.” 

Cersei gasped and looked pleadingly at Jaime. Tyrion and Jaime exchanged horrified looks then turned to Daenerys.

“What about my child?” Jaime demanded. “You say you need my help. Why would I help those who deliberately killed my baby?”

“Your Grace, you know I have no love for my sister,” Tyrion spoke quietly. “I ask you for mercy for my brother and his child. You have always prided yourself on protecting the innocent. This baby is innocent, with no responsibility for the horrors my family has inflicted. Don’t torture my brother by taking away the only true joy in his life.”

Daenerys’s mouth tightened. She looked down to Jon seated at the other end of the table. Jon’s expression was as somber as usual, but his eyes were dark and fathomless. He looked at Tyrion then Jaime, his mouth turning down in a conflicted frown.

Brienne had no love for Cersei but Jaime did. The Gods’ had demanded Jaime as a warrior in the Great War. His refusal to fight with them could result in the loss of thousands of innocent lives or even their complete destruction against the Night King. Cersei may have brought her house to near ruin but her death might doom them all.

“Your Graces, think of the greater good.” Brienne said. “We need Ser Jaime in the Great War. He has pledged his support, despite the bad blood between him and Houses Stark and Targaryen. All he asks you in return is to protect his child. We need him on our side. There must be a way to reason with Dorne.”

Jon and Daenerys looked at each other, sharing silent communication. Jon nodded and Daenerys nodded back.

“Very well,” she agreed. “Lord Tyrion, I’ll spare the false queen.” She paused deliberately. “For now.”

Tyrion took a deep breath and looked at Jaime. The brothers nodded to each other. Cersei gritted her teeth but wisely said nothing.

“Is there time to request a meeting, Lord Varys?” Jon asked. “How long before Dorne strikes?”

Varys frowned. “It’s hard to say, your Grace. The men marching to Blackmont will arrive in a few days, a week at most. Then they must rest and march north into the Reach. I believe we have a month, at best, before their armies are in striking distance of Highgarden. Once they have the Reach, they’ll have more strength to take King’s Landing.” 

“That’s enough time to send an envoy to Sunspear.” Jon looked at Daenerys. “They may pull back their banners once they know the Targaryen armies will defend the southlands.”

“But to who do we send an envoy?” Varys asked. “They’re still haven’t chosen a new prince.”

“To whom,” Davos corrected. “Someone must be in charge and giving orders. Forty thousand men didn’t decide, on their own, to mobilize.”

“Lord Varys, can your little birds find out who’s in charge?” Jon asked.

“They can try,” Varys agreed. 

“Perhaps you should ask my Hand,” Cersei suggested coldly. “His network of little birds is better than yours.”

“If so, why didn’t he know the most powerful army in Westeros was about to bring its wrath down upon you?” Varys’s voice was calm and unruffled.

Cersei blinked silently, unable to provide a reply.

“What if Dorne doesn’t pull back their men?” Daenerys asked. “We need my armies to aid the North. Should we use the _Golden Company_ to protect the Reach and the Crownlands?”

Cersei gasped softly, blinking rapidly. Jaime, focused on the conversation, ignored her reaction. 

“The _Golden Company_ isn’t here,” Jaime pointed out. “They’re in Essos. How is a mercenary company in Essos going to help us?”

There was dead silence for a moment. Brienne held her breath and exchanged concerned glances with Podrick. Jaime didn’t know. How could Cersei expect to win a war without telling her battle commander about her plans? Jon and Daenerys looked at each other, then at Jorah and Davos and finally to Tyrion. Tyrion swallowed visibly and nodded. He turned to look at Jaime.

“Cersei didn’t tell you, did she?” Tyrion asked quietly.

“Tell me what?” Jaime demanded.

“Cersei put the crown into deep debt with the Iron Bank of Braavos to hire the _Golden Company_. Euron was supposed to bring them over from Essos.” Tyrion explained. 

Jaime stared at Cersei. “You plotted with Euron Greyjoy without telling me, the commander of your armies?”

“And you conspired with Tyrion, the man who murdered our father, without telling me, your queen,” Cersei shot back.

“I didn’t conspire –” Jaime began but Cersei cut him off.

“You met with him in secret,” she hissed. “You choose him, the imp who murdered both our mother and our father, over me. He’s the enemy, they’re all our enemies.”

“Tyrion saved our unborn child.” Jaime spoke through gritted teeth. “He saved you, not because he loves you, but because he loves _me_. If only I’d chosen him over you, all those years ago, my life would have been very, very different.”

The twins glared at each other. Everyone else looked around, unsure what to do. The dragons hissed and pulled back their defensive line, close enough for Brienne and Podrick to stroke and reassure them. Finally, Tyrion put his hand on his brother’s arm.

“We can’t change the past, Jaime,” Tyrion said quietly. “We can only go forward. The realm needs your help. Focus your brilliant military mind and help us determine how to protect the people of Westeros, _all_ the people.”

Jaime tore his gaze away from Cersei and breathed deeply. Brienne could almost see him regain control of himself. His spine straightened and his shoulders squared into fighting stance. Like the skilled military commander he was, he put aside his personal problems to focus on the greater threat.

Jaime looked around the room, as though reorienting himself. “How many men can the _Golden Company_ give us?”

“We estimate twenty thousand, between fully trained officers and highly trained squires,” Jorah spoke, “plus horses.”

“What about elephants?” Tyrion asked. “They have elephants, don’t they?”

Theon shook his head. “Our ships can’t hold the weight of fully-grown elephants. Even if they did, the weight would slow us down. Such large beasts won’t survive being confined on ships for well over a fortnight.”

“That’s only half the size of the army Dorne is preparing,” Jaime noted. “The _Golden Company_ is the best fighting force in Essos but they don’t know the layout in the Reach. They’ll be against an army twice their size with the tactical advantage of knowing the territory and skilled in raid and ambush attacks.”

“So, what’s our best strategy?” Jon demanded. 

Jaime looked around the room again. His gaze settled on Brienne. 

“Our best strategy is a show of force,” Jaime decided. “Don’t use the _Golden Company_ to protect Highgarden, use them to protect Brienne and her dragons.”

“What?” Brienne’s voice rose to such a high octave it nearly cracked. “What do you mean?”

Her heart beat so fast she was nearly breathless. Did Jaime know about Griff and her connection to the _Golden Company_? How could he possibly know? She exchanged horrified glances with Podrick, who had gone pale.

“The dragons are more powerful than any army,” Jaime pointed out. “No one can stand against them for long. Take them to Dorne and show the Dornish what they face if they march north.”

“No.” Brienne began shaking her head before he even finished speaking. “I won’t take the dragons into battle.”

“You don’t have to take them into battle,” Jaime assured her. “You only need to take them into a parlay. If they can do again what they did earlier today, show people they’re real and powerful, even as the smallest Targaryen dragons, Dorne will back down.”

“He’s right,” Jorah agreed. “Dorne has close ties to Essos. Their generals know what happens in the Bay of Dragons and the free cities. The Unsullied was the greatest slave army in the known world, until they were freed by Queen Daenerys. The Dothraki, the greatest untamed warriors, follow Khaleesi Daenerys. The _Golden Company_ , the greatest paid army, has accepted a contract to serve the same queen. The three most powerful forces in Essos have consolidated behind the Targaryen banner.”

“What about the poisons and ambush attacks the Dornish use?” Brienne questioned. “How will we keep the dragons safe from those?”

“That’s why you’ll take the _Golden Company_ with you,” Jaime reminded her. “They’ll protect the dragons. The problem will be finding men in the company who can be around the dragons without upsetting them.”

Brienne looked at Podrick again. His eyes were as wide and stunned as she was sure hers were. Could it really be that easy? Could Griff, Tristan and the crew of the _Sea Keeper_ walk in the front gates of King’s Landing and be welcomed as the dragons’ defenders? The future King of the Seven Kingdoms could be ready and in position in the matter of a fortnight. 

“The problem is time,” Theon pointed out. “It’ll take at least a month to go to Essos and bring back the _Golden Company_. We may not have them here soon enough to prevent Dorne from attacking.”

“They have some ships of their own,” Jorah pointed out. “We don’t need the full company to go with Lady Brienne. We only need a hundred or so men. We’ll send a contingent of Dothraki and Unsullied with her, too. The _Iron Fleet_ will take them to Sunspear. That will show Dorne the three most powerful armies and the most powerful naval fleet are Targaryen, standing with Lady Brienne and the dragons.”

“The _Shy Maid_ ,” Tyrion said suddenly.

Brienne frowned at him. “I’m not a shy maid.”

Tyrion shook his head. “No, not you. I just remembered the name of one of the boats the _Golden Company_ had in Valyria. It stuck out in my mind because of how plain and unadorned it was. I remember someone boasting it may not be the prettiest but it was the fastest and most powerful. He said he wouldn’t trade it for all the beauties in the world, because his was the best.”

“The _Shy Maid_ was a four-cabin pole boat,” Jorah clarified. “It worked well in the shallows of Valyria but cannot bring a full company of men across the Narrow Sea.”

“But they do have other ships,” Varys said. “I heard they brought on a former Lyseni pirate to be their master-of-ships. They’ve had great success curtailing the pirate raids near the free cities. They’ve also set up a base in Tyrosh.”

“Lord Tyrion, send a raven to Harry Strickland,” Daenerys commanded. “Request a hundred men sent to us immediately. They can be here from Tyrosh in a week, perhaps less if they have favorable winds.”

“Who is Harry Strickland?” Jaime asked. 

“The commander of the _Golden Company_ ,” Jon explained. “He reached out to us after signing the contract to defend Westeros.”

“The _Golden Company_ is supposed to be famed for never breaking a contract,’ Cersei hissed. “They’re broke it by conspiring with you.”

“No, they didn’t,” Tyrion informed her calmly. “You’re just as poor at negotiating contracts as you are at running a kingdom. You signed an agreement pledging the _Golden Company_ to the Queen of Westeros, not to Cersei Lannister.” 

Cersei froze, mouth opening in shock. Tyrion grinned at her.

“The _Golden Company_ is honoring their contract,” he said cheerfully. “Queen Daenerys will command them to protect Lady Brienne and neutralize the Dornish threat.”

“Your Graces,” Missandei spoke. “Should we attempt to bring another of these creatures to the parlay with Dorne? Perhaps if they saw what we’re trying to protect the realm against, they’ll lay their animosity aside and join us?”

“It’s too dangerous to go beyond the Wall,” Daenerys protested. “The Night King has already taken Viserion. I won’t allow him to have another of my children.”

“He won’t,” Jon assured. “The dead are attacking even outside the Wall, so we don’t have to risk going against the Night King yet. You’ve made a good suggestion, Missandei, but time is against us. We don’t know when or where the dead will rise next. Brienne will go into the parlay with her dragons and the Targaryen armies.”

Brienne shook her head. “Your Graces, I’m not a politician. I don’t know how to persuade Dorne to halt their battle plans.”

“You underestimate your skills, Lady Brienne,” Daenerys insisted. “In any case, you won’t go alone. Lord Tyrion will accompany you. Sending my Hand and my kin, along with a showing of my military, will show my respect and my might to Dorne. Lord Tyrion’s silver tongue will flatter them while your dragons will bring them to their senses.”

Brienne relaxed and nodded. She was no diplomat but Tyrion was experienced at persuading and speaking. Plus, Griff and the _Golden Company_ would be with them. They’d keep the dragons safe. Griff’s study of history and prior battles might give them leverage in the negotiations with Dorne.

“Maybe Lady Brienne should tell them she’s the Gods’ warrior, get them to fear holy wrath,” Bronn suggested, grinning at her. “How did she become the God’s warrior, anyway? Did my invitation get lost in the shuffle? I’d be happy to raise dragons.”

Catren, the leader of the five, hissed and swished its tail. Allwyn fanned out its wings, showing off their impressive width, while Gallan focused its bright, reptilian eyes on the recently anointed knight. Serdun and Ardayn continued their focus on Cersei and Gregor, the only true threats to Brienne in the room.

“Fuck me.” Bronn’s eyes widened. “They understood what I said.”

Tyrion shook his head and sighed. “They understand you’re looking at them and their mother like they’re the finest wares on the Street of Silk. Put your eyes back in your head before those dragons gouge them out.”

Bronn jerked and immediately turned back to the table. Tyrion snickered while Jaime huffed with annoyance.

“Bronn often acts like an idiot but he brings up a good point,” Jaime said quietly. “Brienne, how did this happen to you? How do you know you’re the Gods’ warrior?”

Everyone looked at her, once again silent as they waited. The hated blush flushed her face again. Why did everyone have to ask her questions? Why couldn’t they accept the truth on faith alone? Hadn’t the Gods done enough; bringing dragons into the world and commanding them to destroy the Iron Throne, thus revealing the precious Valyrian steel swords? If the Gods’ actions weren’t enough to convince them, what good were her words? Even so, she had to try. 

“I prayed daily to the Faith to give my life meaning and allow me to serve a just king,” Brienne said, her voice throbbing with conviction. “Two priests, one who follows the God of Water, the other the God of Fire, guided me. Both told me I had a great purpose. Then the Seven answered my prayers with dragons and a king who will _serve_ his people, not rule them. I’ve been given so much and understand even more is expected of me. I serve my king and _all_ the Gods to the best of my ability. I _am_ their warrior.” 

Everyone stared at her in wordless awe, silenced by the glowing conviction in her face and the dragons, the Gods’ gift, lined up before her, ready to burn down the world in her defense. Then Jon shook his head, as if coming out of a trance, breaking the frozen tableau.

“Thank you, Brienne.” His voice was gruff and a bit muffled, as if he had trouble speaking. “I’ll do my best to justify your faith, and the Gods’ faith, in me.”

Brienne blinked and lowered her head. She had stupidly told everyone she followed a just king. Jon thought she meant him, when she’d really meant Griff, the future King Aegon the Sixth. Now she had no choice but to allow Jon to believe she’d meant him. Jon was a good man but he hadn’t been raised to be a king, nor did he choose to be one. He didn’t study history or previous battles; he didn’t speak multiple languages or have contacts all over the known word. He didn’t even want the responsibility of leading and caring for the North. He’d accepted it because the people believed in the Stark bloodline. It was almost a cruelty since Jon wasn’t even allowed to carry the Stark name.

“How, Brienne?” Jaime asked again. “How did this happen to you?”

Brienne took a deep breath to compose herself. “When Podrick and I left King’s Landing, after delivering you, we found Sandor and Arya on the road to Gulltown.”

“What?” Jon interrupted. “Sandor was with Arya?”

“Yeah,” Sandor nodded. “I kept trying to give her back to your family but they died before I got to them. First your brother Robb at the Twins then your Aunt Lysa at the Eyrie. Then I ran into your blonde dragon. She pushed me off a cliff and I lost Arya.”

Jon looked from Sandor to Brienne then back again. “Brienne pushed you off a cliff?”

“I didn’t know he was protecting Arya,” Brienne explained. “I thought he kidnapped her. Arya refused to talk to me after he pointed out my Lannister sword.”

Sandor grunted. “She said she’d take Arya to you at Castle Black but she had Lannister gold. I thought she’d take your sister back to King’s Landing. Arya ran from me after the fight.”

“Arya is back at Winterfell now, home, where she belongs.” Jon blinked back sudden moisture. “I thank you both for protecting her.”

There was another long silence. Then Ardayn squawked and ruffled its wings. Jon broke out of his sudden pensiveness to smile at the silver-grey dragon who had accepted his bond. Brienne stroked its long, rough neck.

“We thought Arya might go to Braavos, since we met her and Sandor on the road to Gulltown,” Brienne continued. “Once there, we met a saltwater priest who told me of five visions and sent us to Tyrosh.”

“Five visions,” Jaime repeated. “Did those five visions lead you to the five dragons?”

“No,” Brienne shook her head. “The visions were all about Lady Sansa. I believed him because the first vision had already come true. He sent us on to Tyrosh and told me to hurry because –” She broke off, eyes widening in horror. 

“Because what?” Jaime demanded.

“The Night Queen,” Brienne whispered.

“What?” Daenerys asked. “Who?”

“The saltwater priest told me I had to hurry,” Brienne’s voice trembled. “He said the reign of the Night _Queen_ will soon begin.”

“The Night Queen,” Jon repeated. “Not the Night King? Are you sure?”

Brienne nodded, still stunned. Podrick cleared his throat. 

“He said more than that, remember, my Lady, Ser?” he prodded.

“Podrick, what did he say?” Jon demanded.

Podrick swallowed. “He addressed my Lady by name, your Grace. She asked him how he knew her. He said ‘You are chosen. Your destiny was foretold in the stars before you were born.’ Then he told her to hurry. ‘Hurry, Brienne of Tarth. The reign of the Night Queen will soon begin.’ Those were his exact words.”

Jon shook his head. “We saw him. Ser Jorah, Sandor, Queen Daenerys, and I. We all saw him, it was a man, a king, not a queen.”

“Maybe the priest was mistaken,” Theon suggested. “Our priests aren’t learned men. Most can’t read or write.”

“No, he wasn’t wrong,” Podrick insisted. “He wasn’t the only one who said it.”

“Who else?” Jorah asked, his voice rough and deeper than usual. “Who else said it, Podrick?”

“The Red Priestess,” Brienne answered. “The one who knew the history of _Oathkeeper_ and said Ser Jaime would soon carry _Widow’s Wail_. She said it, too.” 

“What were her exact words?’ Jon demanded.

Brienne frowned as she thought back. Podrick cleared his throat again. Brienne nodded to him.

Podrick looked at Jon. “She said ‘Have faith, Brienne of Tarth. You will return to Tyrosh reborn and step into a destiny brighter than the flames themselves. But you must hurry, Lady Brienne. You know, for you have already been told. The reign of the Night Queen will soon begin.’ She also knew of the Night Queen.” 

“Does that mean there’s another threat we haven’t encountered?” Jorah asked. “Does the Night King have a Queen? Does she have his powers?”

“Or is he looking for a queen?” Jon asked grimly. “The Night King had been contained by the Wall for over five thousand years, with few issues. Now he attacks the living to build his army. And his powers are growing so strong he can raise the dead even from beyond the Wall. What changed? Why?”

“The dragons,” Missandei said softly.

“What?” Daenerys looked at the five, who looked back at her, calm but alert. “They’re fine.”

“No, your Grace, I mean the dragons are what changed,” Missandei clarified. “My life, your life, all of our lives changed when we came in contact with the dragons. They’re creatures of magic. You told me the Warlocks of Qarth stole them and tried to chain you because they wanted the dragons’ magic.”

“Yes,” Daenerys gasped as her eyes widened. “The warlock in the House of the Undying told me when my dragons were born, their magic was born again.”

“Does that mean the dragons’ magic is feeding the Night King’s magic?” Jorah’s face drained of color. “Does the Night King want to hold you like those warlocks did? Does he want you for his Night Queen?” 

“That could be why his powers are growing,” Tyrion suggested. “Viserion is a creature of magic. Magic never died, even when the dragons did over three hundred years ago. It became dormant. Now magic is strong, even able to create new dragons. The Night King is feeding on Viserion’s magic, even before raising him.”

“Wait, wait, hold on here,” Bronn put up his hand. “Raising him? Are you saying this Night King will turn a dead dragon into one of those creatures you keep talking about?”

“He will if we can’t stop him,” Jon admitted. 

“Right then, I’m out.” Bronn stood up. “It’s all well and good to fight dead men but dead dragons are where I draw the line.”

“You faced a live dragon,” Jaime reminded him. “You even shot him with a scorpion bolt.”

Daenerys’s eyes narrowed. “That was you?”

“It wasn’t personal,” Bronn assured her. “I wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t tried to set me on fire. And it was stupid luck that I hit him at all. Those gears were so damn heavy I could barely hold the shots.”

One of the dragons growled. Brienne looked down at the five. Ardayn and Serdun were focused on Cersei and Gregor while Catren, Allwyn and Gallan watched Bronn with interest. She looked up and blinked when she realized it was Daenerys who had growled.

“Your Grace, we’ve all done terrible things in battle,” Brienne said gently. “We’ve agreed to put the past behind us. We must be united to fight our common enemy.”

Daenerys took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. She nodded. Bronn pushed back his chair and went to the door. Catren, followed by Allwyn and Gallan, flew past him to land before the doorway, barring his exit. The dragons hissed and puffed, spreading their wings to block the door. Bronn stopped so abruptly he nearly overbalanced. He circled his arms in windmill fashion to keep from falling into the dragons.

“You said you wanted to father dragons.” Tyrion leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “You’re in luck. Apparently, they don’t want you to go.”

Bronn put his hands up, as though in surrender. He tentatively slid his foot forward. Catren screeched while Allwyn and Gallan closed their wings and stepped forward. Quickly, Bronn slid his foot back. Allwyn and Gallan also stepped back, beside Catren again. Bronn took a full step back. Catren folded in its wings. All three watched Bronn back away and relaxed their stance.

“Does that mean I can’t leave now or forever?” Bronn slowly walked backwards towards his chair, never looking away from the three dragons.

“You should probably plan on forever,” Jorah advised. “They have your scent now and they’re excellent trackers.”

The dragons waited until Bronn sat down then flew back to Brienne. They rejoined the defensive line and watched Bronn shift in his seat. 

Bronn pulled on the bottom of his jacket to straighten it. “Sometimes it’s a curse to be so damn desirable.”

“Yes,” Tyrion agreed dryly. “I know all about it.”

Bronn glared at him, not at all happy. Brienne wasn’t happy either. She recalled Griff’s words.

_Magic is a power. It was dormant for so long because there wasn’t enough energy – dragon’s blood – for it to draw upon. Dragons and magic are now coming back into the world._

She’s been so happy, grateful to have the dragons and a purpose in life. She hadn’t understood magic, like all power, could be corrupted and used for evil just as easily as it could be used for good. She looked down at the dragons, the future rulers of the world. She’d naively thought they’d be as good and as kind as she raised them to be, as honorable and as fair as her own father. 

But there were other forces involved, forces that could turn dragons and, possibly even the Dragon Queen, into creatures of darkness. How could they fight a threat that used their own power against them? 

How could something as insignificant as her love overcome such evil?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I've been so slow in posting. I'm still working on getting back into a schedule with my betas (Winter and Comet). I hope you enjoy this chapter, as it will sets up some of the conflicts. The next chapter will reveal the meaning of not just one, but two prophecies. Also, did you get the hint about the boat? What do you think it means?


	21. Curse Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m here because it’s my destiny to rule the Seven Kingdoms. I was born to it. I brought dragons back into the world and, with them, the rebirth of the Targaryen empire. King Jon is here because his people are being attacked by a creature of magic. He needs my dragons to fight the threat. You weren’t born to rule, nor have you become a ruler. You were on your way to Essos. Why are you risking your life, and your dragons’ lives, by being here?”

### Chapter 21 – Curse Keeper

Brienne followed Qhono to the suite assigned to Queen Daenerys. The dragons followed after her. The five hissed and snapped, acting more like overtired children than the most powerful creatures in the known world. The leader of the Dragon Queen’s bloodriders nodded to them but otherwise didn’t appear affected by being followed by the five. The servants and guards in the hallway, however, froze or shrank back against the walls until they passed. 

The dragons’ behavior was understandable. They had flown down from Dragonstone and spent the entire day on guard duty. They hadn’t even had their midday naps. Allwyn and Catren, especially needed the rest, probably because they expended the most energy with their theatrics. But even Serdun and Ardayn, her most ardent guards, snapped and hissed, equally tired and out of sorts. Gallan simply followed after the others, snapping back but not involved in their display. 

“You’ll sleep in just a little while,” Brienne promised. “Queen Daenerys requested we visit her.”

Qhono nodded. “Khaleesi commands.”

His Common Tongue was rough but understandable. The dragons squawked again, looking around with glassy-eyed, tense interest. Qhono stopped in front of a door guarded by bloodriders. Although they had bent the knee to Daenerys as their new queen, none of the Queensguard was present. Brienne couldn’t blame the Dragon Queen for not trusting men who had been in the service of Lannisters and Baratheons. They would have to work hard to earn their new queen’s trust.

Qhono knocked on the closed door. It was opened almost immediately by Missandei. She had changed out of her dark gown into a lighter, pale yellow dress. Missandei nodded and spoke to Qhono briefly in Dothraki then stepped aside to allow Brienne and the dragons to enter. 

“Welcome, Lady Brienne,” Missandei smiled warmly.

The suite, while not the actual royal chambers, was still sumptuous with polished wooden furniture, heavy red drapes and fabrics in Lannister red and gold. The glass doors leading to the balcony were open, bringing in the cool night air and the sound of rushing waves. The dragons, sensing there was no threat to Brienne here, began exploring the space. 

Daenerys came in from an attached room, now dressed in a lighter pink gown, a duplicate to the one Missandei wore. It was odd to see the queen in simple clothes, without her triple-dragon crests, structured coats and with her thick, waist-length hair hanging loose down her back. Brienne was struck by how young and vulnerable the new Queen of Westeros looked. 

“You asked for me, your Grace?” Brienne stood tall and straight, feet shoulder-width apart, arms crossed behind her back. 

Daenerys smiled and nodded, then looked past her to the dragons. She laughed softly. Brienne turned to see what had amused her and gasped. The dragons, eyes heavy with sleep, had draped themselves over the elegant cushions and elaborately carved sofas, ripping into the fine red and gold materials as they burrowed into comfortable positions. Brienne turned to rouse them but stopped when Daenerys put her hand on her arm.

“Let them to sleep,” the queen advised. “They’ve had a long, busy day.”

“But they’re ruining the silks and velvets,” Brienne protested.

Daenerys’s mouth curled into a sneer. “Let them. Once we’ve defeated the Night King and I properly take my place as ruler, I’ll remove every sign of the Lannisters.”

Brienne nodded and returned her attention to the new queen. Daenerys exchanged glances with Missandei then tugged lightly on Brienne’s arm.

“Come, let’s sit,” the queen urged.

She guided Brienne to the overstuffed chairs and sofas. Brienne sat down on a heavily cushioned sofa. Immediately, Allwyn flew into her lap. Daenerys sat on the couch opposite her, where Catren and Gallan already lay. The Dragon Queen was so tiny, she was able to slip between them without requiring the dragons to shift their positions. Both allowed Daenerys to rest her hands on them but looked to Brienne for approval. Brienne smiled then turned to Ardayn and Serdun, sitting quietly near the windows.

“Ardayn, Serdun, māzigon naejot issa,” she called softly.

The dragons needed no further urging to come to her, settling on either side of her on the wide sofa. Brienne lifted her arms so the two could snuggle against her, pressing their heads against her shoulders. Daenerys and Missandei, who had seated herself in a cushioned chair near her queen, watched her in thoughtful silence.

“You sent for me, your Grace?’ Brienne prompted.

Daenerys nodded and smiled down at Catren and Gallan. She stroked them in a calm, rhythmic manner, causing their eyes to droop heavily with sleep. Allwyn had already closed its eyes while Serdun and Ardayn leaned more of their weight against Brienne.

“Why are you here, Lady Brienne?” Daenerys asked, still calming Brienne’s dragons with gentle, loving strokes.

Brienne frowned. “Qhono asked me to come to you. Or at least, that’s what I thought he said.”

Daenerys looked up, still caressing the dragons. “I don’t mean here, in this room. I mean, why are you here in King’s Landing or even Westeros?”

“I…I don’t understand, your Grace,” Brienne shook her head. “I came to attend the parlay, to gather support for the Great War.”

“But why?” Daenerys pressed. “I’m here because it’s my destiny to rule the Seven Kingdoms. I was born to it. I brought dragons back into the world and, with them, the rebirth of the Targaryen empire. King Jon is here because his people are being attacked by a creature of magic. He needs my dragons to fight the threat. You weren’t born to rule, nor have you become a ruler. You were on your way to Essos. Why are you risking your life, and your dragons’ lives, by being here?”

Brienne mimicked the queen’s action, stroking Serdun and Ardayn in the same slow, soothing strokes. “I only planned to go to Essos for the dragons. Westeros is my home. I’m the heir of Tarth, my father’s only heir. The people of Tarth look to me to secure their future. It’s my duty to protect them.”

Daenerys rested her hands on Catren and Gallan. “What about your duty to your children? Do they not deserve your protection?” 

Brienne’s hands also stilled. “Of course, they do, your Grace. I’ve done everything in my power to protect them.”

“Power,” Daenerys murmured. “Do you even understand how much power you truly have? You have five dragons. I understand hiding them when they were too small to defend themselves. But now, they’ve shown they’ll protect you from any threat. You can easily take a ship to Essos, wait out the Great War, gather armies, then come back as a conqueror.” 

“Conqueror?’ Brienne blinked. “I’m not a conqueror, your Grace, I’m a knight. My duty is to follow my king, not to seize power for myself. That’s why I won’t take the dragons into battle. I don’t want them exposed to a world where innocents suffer and good men die for bad reasons.”

“All the more reason to take them away from here,” the queen argued. “Your first duty should be to these five. If you’re lost, who will care for them?”

Brienne looked down at the dragons surrounding her. Allwyn was already asleep. Serdun and Ardayn shifted on the cushions, finding better positions while still pressed against her. “I have bonds. My father, Podrick and my…”

Brienne stopped herself from repeating the same mistake as before. She had almost said ‘king’ again. Her cheeks flushed with unwanted color. It was hard for her to lie in the best of times, but faced with Daenerys’s extraordinary beauty, so much like Griff’s, it was almost like talking to Griff himself.

Daenerys and Missandei exchanged glances. Daenerys’s expressive eyebrows raised while Missandei cleared her throat.

“And your king?” Missandei finished for her. “Your dragons have accepted King Jon but is that enough for him to care for them in your absence?”

Brienne ducked her head, trying to hide the deepening color. She struggled to find a suitable answer. What could she say? She didn’t dare say anything that might give away Griff’s claim or Jon’s mistake of thinking he was her ‘just king.’ The Dragon Queen observed her for a moment then abruptly changed tactics.

“Why did you take the dragons into the Red Keep during the parlay?” she asked. 

“To keep them safe.” Brienne released her breath slowly, grateful the queen no longer wanted to discuss the difficult topic. “I knew they were in danger, left out in the open. Worse, they could have become a danger to others if they were provoked and fired on guards.” 

“But you didn’t take just your dragons to the Red Keep,” Daenerys’s voice hardened. “You took mine as well.” 

Brienne shook her head vehemently. “No, I didn’t take them. They choose to follow us, to keep the young dragons safe.” 

Daenerys leaned forward, but still touched the now-sleeping dragons on either side of her. “Do you see the problem this presents, Lady Brienne? I conquered the slave cities in the Bay of Dragons because my dragons were at my side. Now, their loyalties are divided between me and the five dragons Drogon brought into this world.”

So, this was the true reason for Daenerys’s meeting. She was worried about her power again. Her dragons were her ultimate weapons, she needed them at her side. Drogon’s offspring may have brought her the joy of new life but they weakened her control over her children, thus weakening her power. Even Rhaegal had left her to protect the young dragons. 

“We have the same goal,” Brienne pointed out quietly. “We all want to keep the dragons safe. These five are Drogon’s children. It’s a parent’s natural instinct to protect their child. Losing Viserion has made Drogon and Rhaegal diligent about protecting the five. They’re family.”

“As are we, Lady Brienne,” Daenerys sat up. “You’re my kin, my father’s granddaughter. You carry the blood of the dragon. You’re Targaryen.” 

Brienne hesitated but the truth couldn’t be denied, especially with proof sleeping peacefully on the cushions around them. “Yes, your Grace, I am.”

“Yet you pledge your loyalty to another, not to your own flesh and blood,” Daenerys noted.

Brienne stilled as she suddenly realized Griff was also her kin. They were both grandchildren of Aerys. Griff was the same age as her, as they had both been born on the night of the red comet. Daenerys, their aunt, wasn’t interested in family relationships. She wanted Brienne to support her blood ties to her kin over her loyalty to her king, whom she believed to be Jon. Brienne’s words, though heartfelt, had endangered not only Griff, but Jon as well. Now, she had to be careful not to cause more conflict between Jon and Daenerys, as well as protect Griff.

“Your Grace, I pledged my loyalty to my king before I met you.” Brienne spoke carefully. “I must honor that pledge until he or I die. Would you really want a subject whose loyalty can be swayed easily; whose vows are as fleeting as the wind?” 

Daenerys was thoughtful for a moment. “No, I would not. I’d rather have an honest man before me than a false man behind me.”

“I prefer to stand before you, your Grace. There is no honor in being false behind you.” Instead, Brienne was being false to Daenerys’s face. How did she get herself into this mess?

“Lady Brienne, King Jon represents the North, a region that wants independence, that wants to reject my rule.” Daenerys’s voice hardened. “Even so, I’ve gone into battle for the North, I’ve lost a dragon fighting for the North. I’ll continue to fight for them. It’s my duty as Queen of Westeros. Do you consider my actions honorable?”

Brienne nodded. “Yes, very honorable.”

“Do you believe it is in the best interest of the North to separate from Westeros?” the queen questioned. 

“No, I don’t,” Brienne admitted. “But I understand it. The Lannister rule, following the death of Robert Baratheon, has been brutal for the North. They’ve suffered under the cruelty of Joffery, the indecision of Tommen and the viciousness of Cersei. They want a leader they know will think of their best interest before his own.”

“Have I not demonstrated I’m thinking of the North’s best interest?” Daenerys demanded.

Brienne paused. Daenerys waited. The dragons were all in deep sleep now, snuggled against the warmth of their mother and Drogon’s mother. They were deeply tired and didn’t sense a need to protect their mother from their grandmother. Brienne took strength from that knowledge. The queen had every right to question her, to determine if her kin would stand beside her. 

“No, your Grace, you have not,” Brienne replied honestly.

Daenerys blinked. “I see.”

She again traded glances with Missandei, who had been observing their exchange quietly. She looked back at Brienne.

“How do you feel I’ve let them down?” the queen asked.

She didn’t sound angry or offended, merely curious. Brienne took that to mean the queen wanted to hear the honest truth.

“You’ve aided the North, which was a great mercy. But you didn’t do it for the people. You did it for yourself, because you considered yourself undefeatable.” Brienne looked at Daenerys directly, showing there was no falseness in her answer. “You fought, not because you wanted to protect the North, but because you want to rule it.”

Daenerys stiffened but regarded Brienne calmly. Color highlighted her cheeks but her response was controlled and measured. She nodded as if considering her words.

“And rule it I shall,” she vowed. “King Jon has promised to bend the knee to me when I win the battle against the Night King. If he does so, will you honor his pledge? Will you also accept me as your queen?”

Brienne took refuge in evasion, saying only the portion of the truth the queen wanted to hear. She’d had enough practice with selecting her words that they no longer sounded false, even to her own ears.

“My father taught me honor, duty and service are the cornerstones of good leadership.” Her voice was steady. “Those are the traits that make for a good knight and a good king. I pledged my sword and my loyalty to a king who has shown me his honor, his sense of duty, who has fought for me and who has supported and shielded me when I needed it. Where he leads, I shall follow. He is an honorable king and I am an honorable knight.”

“An honorable knight,” Missandei repeated. “Is that how you see yourself, Lady Brienne? Not as a lady to be courted and cosseted, but as a warrior who fights and defends the innocent?”

Brienne nodded. “I do.”

“And your faith in your king is unwavering?” Daenerys demanded.

Brienne nodded again. “It is.”

Daenerys’s eyes crinkled with her glorious smile. “Good. I’m glad of it.”

Brienne straightened, startled. “You are?”

“Yes, of course,” Daenerys nodded.

Brienne shook her head, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “But…but I just told you I follow my king, not you.”

Daenerys’s smile didn’t dim. “You told me to my face. You’re true to your loyalties and honest about what you see as my shortcomings. That’s what I want, what I need, in those around me. A ruler can lose touch with her subjects, even without sitting on a horrible throne, fifteen feet above them. And I will rule. I vow soon all of Westeros will once again unite under the Targaryen banner. Do you believe that will happen, Lady Brienne?”

“Yes, I do, your Grace.”

Brienne did believe but she’d given her loyalty to a different Targaryen. One who didn’t believe it was his right to rule. It would be his duty; one he would carry out with mercy and humility. A king who would understand the sufferings of his people because he had gone hungry, been poor, worked at hard labor and learned from the mistakes of the past.

“You are the heiress of Tarth. You know one of the most important things a lady, or a queen, can do for her people is to ensure the continuity of her rule,” Missandei said. “Our queen’s hard work and sacrifices will be for naught if she doesn’t have a successor.”

Brienne nodded. She knew, once they won the Great War, it was her duty to return to Tarth and ensure the survival of her people. The dragons were the greatest joy in her life but Tarth needed her to produce a human child to carry on their family line. It was even more important for a ruler to have an heir.

“I see your conviction when you talk about your just king,” Daenerys’s eyes became dreamy and unfocused. “A man who can inspire such devotion in his subjects must be a good man indeed. And King Jon is quite handsome, isn’t he?”

“What?” Brienne could barely keep up with the queen’s thought process. “I hadn’t really noticed, your Grace.”

“You hadn’t?” Daenerys’s eyes narrowed. “You have no romantic interest in King Jon? Your love for him is only as a loyal subject loves her king?”

“No, yes,” Brienne shook her head. “I mean, I have no romantic interest in King Jon, I assure you.”

“Do you know of any attachments?” Daenerys probed. “Has his betrothal been promised?”

Brienne stared at her blankly. “I wouldn’t know, your Grace.”

“It won’t create tension between you and King Jon if I pursue his attention?” the queen asked.

 _That’s_ what this was about? Daenerys didn’t want to question Brienne’s loyalty. She wanted assurance Brienne wouldn’t be a rival for Jon’s affections. How could she think Brienne had Jon’s favor? Did the queen honestly think Jon would choose a plain, masculine warrior over the startling beauty of the new Queen of Westeros? How could she, whom Cersei had described as ‘less than a man, less than a woman,’ compete with the splendor of queens?

Brienne shook her head again, more emphatically. “No, not at all. I have no romantic interest in King Jon’s attentions, none at all.”

“Are you sure?” Daenerys pressed. “I don’t want to intrude or hurt you, Lady Brienne.”

“Positive. He’s too short for me,” Brienne blurted out. 

Her eyes widened and color rushed into her cheeks. Daenerys and Missandei burst out in peals of laughter. Oddly, it didn’t sound harsh or cruel, the way most people laughed at her. Daenerys’s eyes crinkled and Missandei laughter lit up her face. The darker-skinned woman leaned over to put her hand on Brienne’s arm. 

“Oh, Lady Brienne,” Missandei gasped, still giggling. “If you could see your face now. You’re so red I’m afraid you’ve hurt yourself. May I offer some wine to calm you?”

Her words made Daenerys laugh even harder, so much so, the queen slumped back on the sofa, looking more like a carefree young woman than a powerful ruler. Catren and Gallan shifted but didn’t waken. Daenerys managed to control her laughter but her deep violet eyes still sparkled with amusement. She leaned over and took Brienne’s hand.

“Ahh, Lady Brienne, you’re wonderful.” The queen worked hard to contain her mirth. “I’m so glad we found each other.”

Brienne stared at her. No one had ever called her wonderful before. Lady Olenna had called her marvelous but Brienne hadn’t been sure if the late Queen of Thorns had been complimenting her or mocking her. Daenerys squeezed her hand again before releasing it to accept the wine glass from Missandei. Brienne shook her head to indicate she didn’t want the drink.

“King Jon clearly holds you in high regard, Lady Brienne,” Missandei noted as she settled back in her seat. “He’s very protective of you.”

“Of course, he is,” Daenerys sat straight again. “King Jon is loyal to all his people. He defended Lady Brienne against Ser Jamie’s accusations as fiercely as he defended his men against the Night King at Eastwatch. He gave me wise advice on Dragonstone when we lost the _Iron Fleet_ and he gives me good counsel even now.” Her expression grew thoughtful. “Sometimes, we don’t even need words to communicate. I can look at him and know what he’s thinking. He’s a good man, indeed.”

“A marriage between House Stark and House Targaryen would solve many issues.” Missandei sipped her wine with delicate grace. “The North will accept you knowing they’re still under the rulership of King Jon. The lords of the Vale and the Riverlands will also accept your rule through King Jon. The Reach and the Stormlands will go to the _Golden Company_ , also under your rule. The union will make you stronger. A child of the wolf and the dragon might be powerful enough to one day rule the world, not just Westeros.”

The thoughtful, dreamy smile on Daenerys’s face faded. “The stallion who mounts the world.”

Brienne and Missandei stared at her, Brienne drew her eyebrows in confusion while Missandei’s expression softened with concern. 

“Stallion?” Brienne questioned.

“I almost had a son from my marriage to Khal Drogo.” Daenerys’s voice was so soft, Brienne had to lean closer to hear her. “The wise women said my son would be the khal of khals, the king of kings. He was supposed to unite the Dothraki into a single horde that would overrun all the lands of the world. Instead, a witch I trusted, who I tried to protect, betrayed me. A betrayal of blood that cost me my son and my husband.”

Missandei put her glass down and went to Daenerys. She took the wineglass from her queen’s hand. Daenerys didn’t seem to notice, her gaze inward, reliving the pain of her past. Missandei put the glass aside and took her queen’s hands in her own.

“Dany,” she said firmly, “Come back. The past is over.”

Daenerys blinked, coming out of her painful memories. She looked at Missandei and Brienne and gave them a wan smile. Missandei pulled her chair closer to sit beside Daenerys, carefully avoiding Gallan’s tail, which trailed to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” the queen apologized, “I know no good comes from visiting dark memories.”

“Our past cloud our history but we cannot allow it to darken our future,” Missandei insisted. “Your child with King Jon may yet bring you glory.”

“The witch cursed me before she died,” Daenerys said. “I don’t think I can have children.”

“What?” Brienne frowned. “How can a witch take your ability to produce a baby?”

Daenerys told her the story of Mirri Maz Duur, the witch who’d cursed her before Daenerys had her tied to Drogo’s funeral pyre. 

“What did she say to you, your Grace, that was a curse?” Brienne asked. 

“Dany,” Daenerys said.

Brienne frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“My brother called me Dany,” the queen explained. “It used to upset me, mostly because he only used it when he wanted something from me. But now, when I hear it, I know it’s someone close enough to me to see me as family, to call me by my family name. You are my blood, Brienne, my kin. I wish for you to call me Dany.”

Brienne blinked, unsure of what to say. She swallowed hard and nodded. “Thank you, your Grace.”

Daenerys shook her head. “No, I’m not ‘your Grace’ in private. Not when I can throw off the expectations of others, the robes of queenship, the ornaments of rulers and the, frankly, tedious braided hairstyle of Khaleesi. When alone, together as we are now, we’re a family who shares a common goal. You’ll help me bring order and stability, create a better world for the people. Please, call me by my family name.”

Brienne smiled. “Yes, _Dany_.”

Daenerys’s smile was bright enough to light up the room. Missandei nodded in warm approval while Brienne blushed furiously.

“Dany, back to our conversation. What did the witch say?” Missandei prompted. 

“I asked her when Drogo would be well again.” The light in Daenerys’s eyes dulled. “She said ‘When the sun rises in the west, sets in the east, when the seas go dry and the mountains blow in the wind like leaves.’ That’s how she cursed me, by describing an impossible day.” 

Brienne stiffened, feeling as though she’d been thrown in the icy waters of the Bay of Seals. Her blood throbbed burning hot while her skin froze with icy chill. “The witch didn’t curse you. She told you about Viserion’s fate.”

Daenerys and Missandei both stared at her, shock and confusion tightening their features. 

“What do you mean?” the queen demanded.

“I learned priests, witches, sages, all people of faith, see visions as images,” Brienne explained. “For example, the saltwater priest who led me to Lady Sansa saw a bird carry away a wolf. That’s not possible as a wolf is much bigger than a bird. It meant a man from a house with a bird sigil took Lady Sansa, the wolf. As King Jon said, it’s not the prophecies that are false, it’s the interpretation. The witch explained her vision based her personal knowledge and bias.”

“The witch didn’t give me a vision,” Daenerys argued. “She didn’t intend to guide me.” 

“No, she intended to hurt you,” Brienne explained. “You named your dragons after your husband and brothers and refer to them as ‘he’. You consider them your sons, don’t you?”

Daenerys nodded hesitantly, her face draining of color. Her hands shook visibly as she pressed them together in her lap. Missandei placed her hand over Daenerys’s in a soothing gesture.

“But what does it have to do with Viserion?” Daenerys’s demand was more of a plea.

“When the son rises in the west,” Brienne repeated. “The Night King is trying to raise your son, Viserion, here in Westeros.”

Daenerys drew her breath in on a harsh gasp. Missandei tightened her hands around the queen’s.

“And sets in the east,” Brienne continued. “Viserion went down at Eastwatch by the Sea, the Night’s Watch castle on the Bay of Seals, furthest to the east.”

Daenerys breath came out in a helpless cry as shocked tears spilled from her eyes. Missandei pulled their joined hands closer, trying to give her queen her strength.

“When the seas go dry,” Brienne quoted. “Most people in Essos have never seen frozen lands. She described what she saw based on what she knew. The lands north of the Wall look like the desert, but with ice instead of dirt.”

Daenerys rested her head on Missandei’s shoulder, her tears wetting her advisor’s gown. 

“The mountains blow in the wind like leaves,” Brienne finished softly. “The Night King brings the winter storms with him. The mountains blow snow in the wind like leaves.” 

Missandei unclasped her hands from Daenerys’s so she could wrap her arms around the now sobbing queen. Brienne watched her with aching sympathy. She rose from the sofa, put Allwyn down on the warm cushions and went to the women. She knelt so she was on eye level with the queen. 

“The witch didn’t curse you,” Brienne said gently. “She told you the truth she knew would cause you the most pain. She took one child from you and described the death of another. I’m so sorry, Dany.”

Daenerys put her arm around Brienne’s shoulders, drawing her closer. The three women’s heads almost touched as the queen sobbed uncontrollably, perhaps feeling safe to do so in the warmth of their embrace. Brienne suspected Daenerys cried not only for her lost dragon, but also for her unborn child and husband, too. Had she ever taken time to mourn her losses, or had her relentless drive for conquest buried the pain of her heartbreaks?

Eventually, the queen’s tears slowed then finally stopped. Brienne gently guided her back into the cushions while Missandei rushed to bring her wet cloth. Daenerys cleaned her face and took deep, calming breaths. Her eyes were dark and haunted but she still mustered a small smile for them.

“Thank you,” the queen whispered. “Thank you both. There was a time when I was surrounded by nothing but treachery and betrayals, even from my own brother. I feared I would never have people to trust, a true family. But day by day, my family grows and, with it, my power. You are my strength. With you by my side, I’ll become the greatest ruler Westeros has ever known.”

“You know I’ll never betray you,” Missandei vowed. “Dany, you must forget that prophecy from the House of the Undying. Remembering it does you no good.”

“What prophecy?” Brienne asked. “Does it have any bearing on our battle with the Night King?”

Daenerys shook her head, then paused. “I heard a voice say ‘Three treasons will you know, once for blood and once for gold and once for love.’ I believe Mirri Maz Duur committed the blood treason.”

“Ser Jorah committed the gold treason. He came into Dany’s service because Robert Baratheon paid him,” Missandei explained. “But he deeply regrets his actions and saved our queen many, many times. Even a betrayal is not a final, bitter act. Ser Jorah learned from his disgrace and is more devoted now than ever.” 

Daenerys nodded. “Yes, that’s true. But I face another betrayal, this time for love.”

“No one who loves you will betray you, Dany,” Missandei insisted. “We’re your family, your protectors. Our family now includes another fierce warrior, her loyal squire, her wise father and five new dragons. We’re stronger than ever.”

“Perhaps someone will betray me because of their love for another,” Daenerys suggested. She looked directly at Brienne. “Who do we know who’s engaged in a love that’s poisoning his very soul?”

Brienne gasped. “Ser Jaime? You think Ser Jaime will betray you for Cersei? But he knows what she’s done, the lies she told, the secrets she’s kept from him. He knows his sister doesn’t have his best interest at heart.”

“Love doesn’t die simply because it’s the wisest choice,” Daenerys pointed out. “Logic and reason have nothing to do with love.”

_“Gold can be replaced, honor can be subjugated, bones can be broken but love cannot be destroyed.”_

Brienne heard Griff’s voice in her head and bit into her lower lip. She didn’t believe Jamie would knowingly betray Daenerys but Cersei was clever. She knew how much Jaime loved her and had a lifetime of experience using that knowledge. She was also the mother of his unborn child, his final chance to have a family with the woman who was his entire life. Jamie would do anything for his family. It was the weakness that had broken him time and time again.

“We’re here with you,” Missandei reminded her. “Even if Ser Jamie proves false, we’re still true. He may never betray you or, like Ser Jorah, his betrayal will only make you stronger. You gain nothing from worrying about an event you can’t control.” 

Brienne nodded. “My father often says, ‘Don’t borrow trouble. You pay interest on a loan that may never come due.’ Please, have faith in Ser Jaime. He will honor his vows.”

Daenerys studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. I trust you and Lord Tyrion. You both trust Ser Jaime. I’ll wait for events to unfold themselves. I’m very tired now. We’ll continue this discussion another day. I’m sorry to have kept you so late, Brienne.” 

She rose wearily to her feet, her shoulders drooping. Missandei rose with her, still holding her queen’s hands comfortingly. Brienne stood, looked at the heavily sleeping dragons, the furniture they’d rearranged during their conversation, then at the wet cloth the queen has used to clean her tears after sharing her painful past. Brienne’s muscles tightened with a sudden, desperate need. She turned to the other women.

“Dany, may I stay here tonight?” she asked quietly.

Daenerys’s brows drew together questioningly, but she readily nodded. “Of course, Brienne. Are you chambers uncomfortable? Do you need larger rooms to share with the dragons?”

“No,” Brienne shook her head. “My room is fine. It’s just that you’re sad, I mean, the dragons are sad. Or will be sad when I wake them. They’re so comfortable and I…I…”

She stopped, unable to express the anxiety she felt, unwilling to upset the already fragile queen. Daenerys was the most powerful woman in Westeros, the mother of dragons, the leader of two of the greatest armies and the greatest naval force in the known world. Even with all that power, she was only human, absorbing blow after blow from the relentless hand of fate. The nervous energy rose inside Brienne like a wave, pressing against her heart until her breathing became labored.

Daenerys walked back to her. “You mean you want to stay so I have the comfort of family close.” She took Brienne’s hands in her own. “So I know I’m not alone here, in a new bed, in a new city, surrounded by people who don’t know and don’t trust me.” 

The pressure inside Brienne grew stronger. Many times, when she’d been in Renly’s Kingsguard, she’d offered her services but been sneered at or laughed off. Not by Renly or Margaery, but by the other guards. They’d taken great pleasure in their cruelties, those men who had the nerve to call themselves knights, but who didn’t have a fraction of the character or kindness of truly good men like Tristan Rivers or Serjeant Loth. 

“Thank you, Brienne, I’d love to have you stay here.” The queen looked around. “Shall we call for extra bedding?”

“No need,” Brienne assured her. “These sofas and cushions are more comfortable that most of the places I’ve stayed in my travels. I don’t need a thing.”

Daenerys smiled. Missandei went to the balcony, shutting and securing the doors. Brienne pulled out her sword and laid _Oathkeeper_ on a side table, close to her hand.

“Valyrian steel,” Daenerys remarked. 

“Yes, it is,” Brienne confirmed as she removed her sword belt.

“It’s beautiful,” the queen said quietly.

Brienne reached for the sword. “Would you like to inspect it?”

“I wasn’t talking about the sword, Brienne. I was talking about the warrior.” Daenerys clarified.

Brienne froze. “What?”

“Valyrian steel is a special material, stronger and more resilient than ordinary steel,” Daenerys noted. “Some say only dragonfire, blended with great magic, can forge such a mighty instrument. Most people never notice its unique properties. One must look carefully to see the difference between the ordinary and the extraordinary. But once they know, they recognize it instantly.”

Missandei came back to join Daenerys. Brienne stared at the women, tiny, beautiful and delicate, looking at her as if she were the breathtaking one.

“You, Brienne, are Valyrian steel,” Daenerys announced quietly. 

Brienne froze. The two women gave her warm wishes for a good night and left, Daenerys into the adjoining room and Missandei by the hallway door. Silence had settled on the sitting room before Brienne overcame her shock to whisper her thanks. The ladies were gone and dragons were asleep but her gratitude was still heartfelt. She’s never been good at accepting compliments. They were too rare in her life. But the queen’s declaration hadn’t made her feel uncomfortable or distrustful. It seemed right, even true. 

The Gods’ instruments, the weapons hidden in the Iron Throne and their warrior, were made of Valyrian Steel; strong, resilient and extraordinary. They would fight the Great War and they would defeat the Night King. The Gods had given her strength and resilience to guard their dragons, powerful allies to stand with her and prophecies to guide them. Even so, there were those who would work against them, who would put their own goals above the common good. Daenerys knew that, Jon knew that and even Brienne understood. They had to be careful and wary but couldn’t allow their concern to distract them from the battles ahead. 

She settled on the floor, leaving the couches to the sleeping dragons. Brienne glanced around the quiet, still room. Moonlight glinted off the handle of Oathkeeper, the rubies shining like stars in the darkness. The pommel had been damaged during the fight aboard the pirate ship, when the cloth strips covering the distinctive lion design had caught fire. The gold had softened, making the lion looked aged and battle-worn, molding the handle to fit her hand perfectly. 

_Brienne snatched up her sword, the pommel still hot but not unbearable. She rolled onto her knees, looking for a target. Someone came up behind her, she held up_ Oathkeeper _to block the thrust. She turned to face her opponent when a sword appeared pushing out of his chest. The man fell forward, revealing Griff behind him,_ Firestorm _dripping with the pirate’s blood._

Her heart began to pound as she remembered the moment when Griff had saved her from the pirates. Griff was her king, the man to whom she’s pledged her loyalty and service. A chill passed through her as she named the anxiety that coursed through her. It was _guilt_ , the gut-wrenching knowledge that she was the treasonous one the Dragon Queen feared. Jamie wouldn’t betray Daenerys, Brienne would. 

Daenerys thought she’d secure Brienne’s loyalty through a union with Jon, have Brienne at her side without forcing her to compromise her oaths. She thought she could _trust_ Brienne. Brienne admired Jon for his courage and sacrifices, just as she admired Daenerys for her strength and resiliency, but she wasn’t pledged to him. Both rulers thought they held Brienne’s loyalty; unaware her true king was still in the shadows. 

_Three treasons will you know, once for blood and once for gold and once for love._

Yes, Brienne admired Jon and Daenerys but she was lying to them. She liked them, was grateful to have their assistance and would fight with them but she would not follow them. She loved her king and the world he would build. Griff held her loyalty. She would commit treason against the new Queen of Westeros, help another strip her of her crown. It was a truth she couldn’t ignore.

Brienne herself would wound Daenerys, inflict the betrayal for love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had only planned to explain two prophecies but hints for a third wormed their way into this chapter. Did you catch the setup for another prophecy reveal? Let me know in the comments. I'd love to read your thoughts.


	22. Conference Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catren, Gallan and Allwyn moved forward, changing their defensive position from a straight line to an arrow formation. Serdun and Ardayn moved closer together, keeping Brienne protected. Catren moved to the point position with Allwyn and Gallan at its sides. They took another step closer, their reptilian eyes fixed on the former queen’s bodyguard. Cersei gasped and stepped back hastily, stumbling behind Gregor. Gregor obediently shifted back, trying to keep distance between Cersei and the cold-eyed threat.

### Chapter 22 – Conference Keeper

Brienne arrived at the council chambers the next morning, carefully smoothing down the delicate silk material she wore. The clothing had been on the bed when she’d returned to her chamber after spending the night in Daenerys’s sitting room. Guilt and worry had kept her tossing for much of that time. It wasn’t until Allwyn had abandoned the comfortable sofa to snuggle with her that Brienne had relaxed enough to sleep. Now this unexpected gift, no doubt from Daenerys, brought the remorse crashing back in heavy waves.

The modified gown, a bright blue hue that almost matched her eyes accented with splashes of rose pink, fell to her knees with graceful pleats and slits up to the hips on both sides, a gentle gathered vee neckline and a long, straight sleeves. She wore it over new, closely fitting fawn-brown breeches and polished brown flat boots. The gown was surprisingly comfortable, the cleverly cut armholes and pleated back allowing for free movement. The wide, deceptively delicate-looking woven belt was sturdy with a built-in sheath for _Oathkeeper_ and even slots for storing daggers. 

“Good morning,” she said politely.

Catren and Allwyn flew past her to investigate the room while Gallan remained in front of her and Ardayn and Serdun guarded her back.

“Good morning, Lady Brienne,” Tyrion replied. 

He was seated in the middle of the meeting table, Bronn beside him while Podrick, Varys and Theon sat across from him. The other men murmured greetings while Catren and Allwyn landed by Podrick. He stroked and greeted them. After getting the attention that was their due, the pair flew across the table to land beside Bronn, making the knight stiffen as he watched the dragons uneasily. Tyrion snickered.

“Good morning, Catren, Allwyn, did you sleep well?” Tyrion asked. 

The dragons screeched at him. Tyrion nodded as if he understood their response. Gallan flew in to join them. The blue dragon looked up at Tyrion, patiently waiting.

“Good morning, Gallan,” Tyrion responded dutifully. “You’re in fine form today.”

Gallan screeched then looked to Ardayn and Serdun, still with Brienne. They remained at their positions until Brienne went to the table. Then the dragons went to greet Podrick before joining the other dragons to prowl around the large room. 

Bronn relaxed and grinned at her. “Lady Brienne, blue is definitely your color.” 

“It is, isn’t it?” Daenerys, sounding pleased, spoke from the doorway.

They all rose as the queen, followed by Missandei, Jorah and Qhono, entered the room. Brienne blinked when she saw both women were also dressed in similar modified gowns over fitted breeches. Daenerys’s gown was light purple with gold accents and a finely worked gold metal belt while Missandei’s dress was deep rose with silver accents and a less ornate steel belt. 

Daenerys went to her position at the head of the table. Brienne turned to take her seat at the side table by the windows, while the dragons stopped prowling, watching her alertly. Podrick also jumped up from the large table to join her.

“Lady Brienne, please stay at the main table,” the queen commanded.

“Your Grace, the dragons make some people uncomfortable,” Brienne protested.

“Those people are free to leave,” Daenerys responded. “Your input is important. Please remain with us.”

Podrick looked at Brienne inquiringly. She nodded and her squire sat back down in his chair. She was about to sit down beside Bronn when Jon, Davos and Sandor came into the room. Jon and Davos greeted everyone and went to their seats. Sandor remained at the door, eyeing the dragons uneasily.

“Sandor, the dragons will only attack you if you try to hurt Brienne,” Jon reminded him. He looked the bigger man with humor in his eyes. “Do you intend to let Brienne beat you again?”

Sandor grunted and glared at the King in the North. Finally, he shook his head.

“Then sit down,” Jon ordered. 

Sandor reluctantly sat down across from Davos. Catren, Allwyn and Gallan flew to the corner and spread out their wings to enjoy the sunshine spilling into the room. Ardayn and Serdun stopped beside Sandor’s chair. Sandor froze. Bronn grinned at him.

“Don’t look ‘em in the eyes,” Bronn advised. “They take that as a sign of aggression.”

Sandor stared straight ahead, eye’s wide. Bronn snickered at him.

“And don’t snicker,” Tyrion shot back. “They’ll think you’re insulting them. Isn’t that right, Catren, Allwyn?”

Catren and Allwyn, who’d settled on a sofa behind Brienne and Bronn, screeched at hearing their names. Bronn jerked and froze, his eyes as wide as Sandor’s. Everyone else, except Sandor, snickered at the knight. Bronn flushed bright red and glared at Tyrion.

“Shall we begin?” Daenerys asked before the meeting devolved any further. “Lord Tyrion, what do we need to discuss today?”

“Ser Jaime isn’t here yet,” Brienne reminded her. “Shouldn’t we wait for him to join us?”

“I’ll send a servant to fetch him,” Tyrion offered.

He went to the door and opened it to reveal Qhono along with several other bloodriders guarding the room’s entrance. A cluster of servants stood beside them, watching the Dothraki with a blend of awe and fear in their eyes. 

“I know where you were,” Cersei’s voice, throbbing with fury, was clearly heard. “Who you were with.”

Everyone turned to look but the former queen didn’t appear in the doorway. Her voice continued to echo in the hall. Tyrion returned to his seat but left the door open.

“You spent the night in that cow’s room,” Cersei continued, her voice shrill with rage. “You went to her because she’s the only person who feeds your pathetic ego.”

Brienne flushed and looked around the table. Everyone else was still looking at the door, their expressions ranging from indifference to disgust, impatience to annoyance. They apparently didn’t understand Cersei referred to her as ‘that cow.’ Why would Cersei even think Jaime would come to her? Brienne looked back to the entrance as Jaime appeared in the doorway. His hair was mussed and his eyes haggard, but he wore fresh clothes and polished boots.

“Good morning,” he said quietly, as if they hadn’t heard Cersei’s furious accusations. “Forgive my tardiness.”

Cersei appeared in the doorway seconds later, Gregor at her shoulder. Her face was flushed red and her hands were clenched in anger. She saw everyone staring silently at her and made a visible effort to control her fury. Her breasts rose and fell with her deep breaths and the color faded from her face as she forced herself to relax.

“The Queensguard was at my door all night.” Cersei’s lips barely moved as she spoke. “They wouldn’t allow anyone in or out of my room. I had to dress myself this morning.”

Instead of the elaborately layered crimson and gold gowns the former queen normally wore, she was dressed in a simple plum dress with laces along the bodice. Even so, she still projected the aura of the polished, elegant lady.

“They were there for your protection,” Daenerys said, her voice calm and mild. “No one else can be trusted with your safety.”

“Ser Gregor is my protection,” Cersei hissed. “I don’t want cowards who knelt to you at my door.”

“Perhaps you’d prefer to stay in the cells,” Daenerys suggested. “You’re not the queen nor are you even wanted. You live solely as a courtesy to your brother. Lord Tyrion asked my mercy for his brother’s unborn child. Otherwise, I would have executed you the second I became Queen of Westeros.” Her voice hardened. “Now sit down and shut up.”

Tyrion and Jaime exchanged tense glances but didn’t speak. Cersei blinked, her mouth rounding in horror. Spine straight, she stepped to the table, Gregor moving with her. The dragons hissed and formed a line between her and Brienne.

“You’ll sit in the corner,” Daenerys ordered. “Your creature must return to your chambers.”

“He will not,” Cersei insisted defiantly.

Catren, Gallan and Allwyn moved forward, changing their defensive position from a straight line to an arrow formation. Serdun and Ardayn moved closer together, keeping Brienne protected. Catren moved to the point position with Allwyn and Gallan at its sides. They took another step closer, their reptilian eyes fixed on the former queen’s bodyguard. Cersei gasped and stepped back hastily, stumbling behind Gregor. Gregor obediently shifted back, trying to keep distance between Cersei and the cold-eyed threat.

“Order him to return to your chambers before the dragons turn him into ashes,” Jon advised. “If they’re forced to kill him, the cells will be the only place to keep you until your child is born.”

Cersei looked from Jon to Daenerys, cold rage glittering her wildfire green eyes. She gritted her teeth and stepped out from behind Gregor. 

“Ser Gregor, return to my chambers,” she ordered. 

Gregor nodded, turned and left the room. Qhono closed the door but remained in the hall. Cersei regarded the dragons then carefully walked backwards until she came up to the sofa against the wall. The former queen sat down with grace and dignity, her back straight, her chin lifted, appearing unbowed by the dragons’ cold glare.

The dragons relaxed visibly when Gregor left the room. They turned their backs on Cersei, not considering her a threat on her own and went back to prowling around the room. Sandor and Bronn stiffened but everyone else at the table relaxed.

Tyrion unrolled a scroll. “I have a list of actions for the day.”

“First, I’d like to discuss the meeting Brienne, Missandei and I had last night,” Daenerys said quietly. 

“How charming,” Cersei said, her voice dripping poison. “Was that when you made the very important decision of what to wear today?”

Tyrion studied the three women at the table. “I hadn’t noticed but my dear sister is quite right. You do all look charming.”

Daenerys and Missandei accepted the complement with sweet smiles and nods. Brienne blushed red and ducked her head. Behind her, Cersei snorted with disdain. 

“What meeting?” Jon asked. “Why did you have a meeting without us?”

“Missandei and I wanted private time with Brienne,” Daenerys explained. “We spent the night discussing personal matters, including two prophecies I’d been given.”

She told them about the witch’s words and Brienne’s interpretation of them. They were all quiet for a moment then Davos spoke.

“I spent a lot of time with Stannis and his Red Woman.” His gentle voice hardened. “She did terrible, terrible things but she did do some good.” He looked pointedly at Jon then turned back to Daenerys. “Prophecies have value, are repeated over and over again, because they can be interpreted and applied in many ways.”

“So, you don’t think it referred to Viserion?” Daenerys questioned.

“I didn’t say that, your Grace,” Davos assured it. “I said prophecies are layered and can apply to many situations, past and future.”

“I think what Ser Davos is trying to say is that the prophecy may have begun but not ended,” Jon offered. “Maybe it’s a clue to the future and not a record of the past.”

“Let’s break it down,” Tyrion suggested. “Go over it again, piece by piece.”

“When the son rises in the west,” Daenerys said softly.

“The Night King hasn’t raised Viserion yet,” Jon said. “The Night’s Watch is keeping a close eye on the sky at Eastwatch. They’ve posted a watcher at the top of the Wall at all hours. But there’s long stretches of the Wall unmanned. We must hurry to put armies in all the abandoned castles.”

“And sets in the East,” Missandei quoted the next portion of the prophecy. “We thought that meant Viserion setting down at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.”

“If the prophecy hasn’t started yet, Viserion hasn’t risen, perhaps that’s a clue to where we’ll defeat the Night King,” Jorah suggested. 

“Perhaps,” Jon agreed.

“When the seas go dry,” Brienne spoke the next line. “I thought that meant north of the Wall, since a person who has never seen snow would think of frozen land as dry seas.”

“It could refer to any place where the Night King goes,” Davos pointed out. “He brings the winter storms, remember?”

“But the waters must be shallow for the sea to freeze,” Theon pointed out. “It can’t refer to the Bay of Seals or the Narrow Sea. They’re too deep to freeze completely.”

“True,” Jon agreed. “What was the rest of it?”

“The mountains blow in the wind like leaves,” Daenerys said.

Jon shook his head. “That doesn’t fit. Eastwatch-by-the-Sea has some hills but none tall enough to be called mountains. Only the Frostfangs, on the west side, have true mountains.”

“But Viserion went down in the east,” Jorah pointed out. “Does that mean our confrontation with the Night King will be in a location other that Eastwatch?”

“If the Night King’s powers continue to grow and he raises Viserion, he can meet us anywhere,” Jon’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “He can turn any place into the Land of Always Winter.”

“So, what do we do?” Brienne asked anxiously.

“Prepare,” Jon answered simply.

“Right,” Tyrion agreed. He looked down at his list. “I sent a raven to Harry Strickland asking him to send us one hundred men on his fastest ship. His response flew in only a short time ago. He says the _Sea Keeper_ can arrive in King’s Landing in eight days.”

Brienne exchanged glances with Podrick. His eyes shone but he kept his features calm. Griff would be with them in eight days. She only had to manage the next week then her king would arrive to take charge. Jon was doing his best but he wasn’t a military leader. The King in the North had emerged victorious in battles on open ground with flesh-and-blood enemies similar to himself. Now they were preparing to go against a creature of magic, who’d had five thousand years to plan his assault. Jon had never created or studied battle plans against a foe as formidable as the Night King.

“I also sent ravens to Andres Yronwood and Edric Dayne, the lords of their houses,” Tyrion continued. “House Yronwood and House Dayne are the most powerful houses in Dorne after House Martell. I’ve asked them both to set up meetings in Sunspear but I haven’t gotten replies.”

“Lord Varys, have you any success in locating the person controlling Dorne’s military?” Davos asked. 

“Not yet but my little birds are working on it,” Varys assured.

Cersei snorted but they ignored her, all except Jon. He frowned thoughtfully.

“Perhaps Cersei is right,” he suggested. “Qyburn also has a well-developed spy system. Lord Varys, go to him after our meeting. Perhaps your combined efforts will yield faster results.”

“Take guards with you,” Tyrion instructed. “I don’t trust anyone in my dear sister’s service.”

Cersei hissed but wisely said nothing. 

“Next, prisoners,” Tyrion noted.

“Prisoners?” Daenerys repeated. “What about them?”

“My dear sister never needed a reason to imprison people.” Tyrion explained. “There might be some value in seeing who’s down there. Maybe there are potential allies or valuable prisoners we can exchange for support or goodwill.”

“No!” Cersei jumped up from her seat. “You won’t free her. I won’t allow it. She murdered my daughter. My only daughter. She walks free over my dead body.”

Everyone turned to stare at her. The former queen was again red with rage, her body vibrating with her emotions. The dragons flew across to Brienne’s side.

Daenerys looked from Cersei to Tyrion. “Lord Tyrion, what is she talking about?”

“Ellaria Sands,” Jaime answered for him. “She was Prince Oberyn Martell’s paramour. She took revenge for Oberyn’s death by poisoning Myrcella. I’d gone to Dorne to bring Myrcella back after we received a threat on her life. She died on the voyage back to King’s Landing. She died in my arms,” Jaime’s voice broke, “just after she told me she was glad I was her father.”

Tyrion, seated beside him, put his hand on his brother’s shoulder and shut his eyes. Bronn, sitting on Tyrion’s other side grimaced, his eyes downturned. Everyone else looked at Jaime with quiet sympathy. The table was still for a moment. The stillness was broken by Cersei’s harsh gasp.

“That witch will die,” Cersei vowed. “She’ll die as slowly and painfully as I can manage it.”

“She also murdered Princes Doran and Trystane,” Sandor pointed out. “If you’re unwilling to give Cersei and my brother to Dorne, maybe they’ll take this Ellaria instead.”

“No!” Cersei cried. “ _I’ll_ kill her. _I’ll_ watch her die.”

“The only way you’ll watch her die is if I put you in the next cell,” Daenerys snapped. “One more outburst from you and that’s where you’ll be, baby or no baby.”

Cersei was so angry her breathing was audible. She clenched her hands into fists, her body shaking with barely contained rage. The dragons reformed their defensive line between Cersei and Brienne, this time with a new formation. Ardayn and Serdun faced Cersei while Gallan, Catren and Allwyn faced Jaime, who was also nearly hyperventilating.

Brienne looked between the brother and sister, drowning in their grief over the loss of their daughter. Tyrion was also near tears, his face crumpled as he tried to regain control over his emotions. The dragons were tense and ready, having picked up on their throbbing emotions. They didn’t care about the Lannisters’ pain. The dragons would burn anyone who reacted suddenly, who might potentially hurt their mother. 

“Perhaps we should allow the Lannisters to return to their chambers,” Brienne suggested.

“No!”

The cry came from several people, simultaneously. Jaime, Tyrion and Cersei’s refusals were expected but Daenerys’s was not. Brienne turned to look at the queen.

“I don’t want her anywhere near her creature,” Daenerys explained. “I trust Gregor less than I trust Cersei, which is not at all. She goes into the cells.”

“No,” Jaime protested. “There’s no need for that. She can be kept in another room, away from Ser Gregor.”

“The gardens,” Brienne suggested quietly. “They’re quiet and private with fresh breezes. The Queensguard can watch her there. Plus, Drogon and Rhaegal are flying overhead. They’ll burn Ser Gregor the moment they see him. He threatened the young dragons.”

Brienne wasn’t sure if the bigger dragons would burn Gregor on sight. Cersei believed it, judging by the harsh glare the former queen directed at her. Sandor made a sound somewhere between a growl and a grunt but didn’t speak. Gregor also remained silent and stoic. 

Jaime rose from his chair, some of the tense misery easing from his face. “I’ll arrange it.”

“No, you won’t,” Daenerys countered. “Missandei and Qhono will take the false queen to the gardens and order the Queensguard to watch her.” She looked at her advisor. “If any of the Queensguard give you trouble, execute them.”

“You can’t,” Jaime protested. “Those men have been loyal guards for years.”

“To Baratheons and Lannisters,” Daenerys snapped. “To families who’ve tried to kill me from even before I was born. If I don’t hold their loyalty, the Queensguard is of no use to me.”

Jaime’s face flushed again but he clamped his mouth shut. He exchanged glances with Tyrion then slowly sat down. Missandei rose from the table and crossed to the exit. She had a quick conversation with Qhono, who nodded and glared at Cersei. 

“Go with them,” Tyrion urged his sister quietly. “The gardens are clean and fresh. Go, for your child’s sake.”

Cersei hissed in a deep breath and put her hand protectively over her abdomen. She silently stalked out of the room, head held high, sweeping ahead of Missandei and Qhono. Missandei nodded back at everyone while Qhono was already following Cersei, his hand on the blade attached to his belt.

“Lord Tyrion, Ser Jaime, would you like to be excused?” Jon asked quietly.

Tyrion and Jaime exchanged glances then both shook their heads at Jon. The King in the North nodded. The dragons relaxed and returned to their comfortable seats on the sofa and the tables, except Allwyn, who flew into Brienne’s lap. Bronn, seated next to Brienne, stiffened when the grey and blue dragon turned its focused black eyes towards the knight. Brienne wrapped her arm around Allwyn, tucking the dragon close to her breasts.

“Queen Daenerys and I will review the prisoners,” Jon decided. “What’s next?”

“The _Iron Fleet_ ,” Tyrion read from his notes. “We need to ensure they’re ready to sail.”

“We also need to make sure no more traitors are among us,” Theon added. “My men and I will do a ship by ship inspection.”

“I can assist you,” Ser Davos offered. “I’ll focus on the ships while you focus on the men.”

“Theon, how is Yara?’ Daenerys asked. “Is she ready to have visitors?”

Theon smiled and nodded. “She’s much better, your Grace, thank you. She hopes to join our meetings in a day or two.”

Daenerys smiled back at him. “Good. King Jon and I will visit her this afternoon.”

She glanced down the table to Jon. Jon smiled and nodded in silent agreement. Brienne looked from one ruler to the other, observing how in synch they were. Perhaps it was because she knew of Daenerys’s intentions towards Jon, or perhaps the shared burden of ruling increased their compatibility, but they already functioned at a couple. They rarely spoke to each other but their actions and decisions aligned without words. 

“Continue, Lord Tyrion,” Jon urged. “Next?”

“Wildfire,” Tyrion read. “We need to determine how much we have, where it is and decide what to do with it.”

“Wildfire is a powerful but uncontrollable weapon. Using it will destroy everything in its path,” Davos said. “I saw what wildfire did in the Battle of Blackwater Bay. You’ve all seen what’s left of the Sept of Baelor. Do we really want to use a weapon that’ll destroy the very lands we’re trying to save?”

“Perhaps there’s a way to channel it, control it,” Jorah suggested. “Who knows how it’s made?”

“Qyburn,” Jaime answered. “He can tell us if there’s any way to modify or control it.”

“Cersei’s Hand?” Daenerys huffed. “I trust him as much as I trust Cersei.”

“Maybe once we know how it’s made, someone else can find a way to manage it,” Brienne suggested. “We have to stabilize it if we want to take it north.”

“Regardless, we must move it out of the city. We have dragons around here. Any large fire might be enough to ignite the wildfire and burn us all to the ground,” Tyrion reminded them, nodding to Allwyn in Brienne’s lap.

Allwyn squawked and took flight, hovering over the table for a moment before rejoining the other dragons at the far side of the room. Everyone watched with awe as the dragon skillfully landed beside Gallan.

“That might be enough incentive for Qyburn to cooperate with us,” Jon suggested, still watching the dragons. He dragged his gaze away. “Lord Varys, remind Qyburn the wildfire is a threat to everyone living in this city, including those in the Red Keep.”

Varys nodded. “Consider it done, your Grace.”

“Ser Bronn, what do you need to catalogue the wildfire?” Tyrion asked.

“What do I need to go down into dark passageways and put myself inches from liquid death again?” Bronn snorted. “I need a good, stiff drink, maybe a dozen.”

“How about I give you Podrick for now?” Tyrion offered. “Not as a drinking partner but to note where and how much stock we have.”

“It might be good for Podrick to sketch out a map with locations, too,” Brienne suggested. “Not everyone can read but everyone can follow pictures. Pod is an excellent artist. His sketches of the cave drawing from Dragonstone are almost perfect replicas.”

“Thank you, my Lady, Ser,” Podrick murmured, his face blushing bright red.

“Some squires learn fighting or swordplay from their masters. This one learned to blush.” Bronn snorted. “Were you blushing at Chataya’s, too? Can’t image it, you being so good and all. Didn’t charge you a single copper.”

Podrick blushed even deeper red and ducked his head. Brienne also flushed as everyone looked from her squire to her. 

“Ser Bronn.” Jon spoke through gritted teeth, directing attention back to himself. “I don’t know what Chataya’s is and I don’t care. Forget that story. If you bring it up again, I’ll punch you in the jaw. That’ll shut you up for weeks. Understood?”

Bronn slumped in his seat, opening his mouth to speak. The icy glare from the King in the North made him close his mouth with an audible click of teeth. 

“Understood?” Jon repeated.

“Fine,” Bronn muttered. “Pod and I will risk our lives, sober mind you, and draw pretty pictures for your entertainment.”

Jon’s jaw hardened and his hand curled into a fist. Bronn quickly dropped his facetious attitude, straightened and nodded. Jon nodded back and uncurled his fist. He shifted his gaze to Tyrion sitting beside Bronn.

“What’s next, Lord Tyrion?” Jon prompted.

“The Valyrian steel swords in the Iron Throne,” Tyrion responded. “We have to remove them, repair them if they have damaged pommels and decide on a plan to share them among the armies fighting the Night King.”

“Brienne and the dragons will remove the swords,” Jon said. “The dragons will melt the throne and Brienne will collect the weapons.”

“Ser Jorah, will you assist her?” Daenerys asked. “You can evaluate the swords after Lady Brienne removes them.” 

Jorah nodded in agreement. 

“I can help, too,” Jaime offered.

“No, you can’t,” Tyrion corrected gently. “Those dragons won’t let you near Lady Brienne, especially with sharp weapons close by.”

“You said they can sense intent,” Jaime protested. “I have no intention of hurting Brienne.”

“But our dear sister does. And you, erm,” Tyrion cleared his throat uncomfortably, “smell like Cersei.”

Jaime stared at his brother for a few seconds then flushed. He glanced at Brienne before his gaze skittered away. 

“Perhaps Ser Jaime can organize guards for the doors,” Brienne suggested quietly. “The doors and windows must stay open to release the smoke. We don’t want anyone to accidentally walk in while the throne is on fire. The dragons will consider them a threat.”

“Good idea,” Daenerys agreed. “Ser Jaime, arrange guards for Lady Brienne.”

Jaime’s mouth flattened into a thin line but he nodded.

“They can’t grab flaming swords with their bare hands,” Davos noted. “I’ll find Gendry. He can bring them heavy aprons and tongs.”

“Gendry?” Jon asked.

“Aye, he’s a blacksmith I know on the Street of Steel.” Davos’s eyes flick to Tyrion and Jaime then he looks back at Jon. “He apprenticed under Tobho Mott, one of the few men in Westeros who worked with Valyrian steel.”

“Do you think he’d go north with us?” Jon asked. “We need skilled blacksmiths to forge the dragonglass into weapons. His knowledge of Valyrian steel might help.”

Again, Davos glanced at the Lannister brothers before addressing his king. “I don’t know, your Grace, but I’ll ask him when I ask for the aprons and tongs.”

“Remind him his queen requires his service,” Daenerys says. “His contributions will help us in the battle against the Night King.”

“Aye, your Grace,” Davos agreed.

“Anything else on your list, Lord Tyrion?” Jon asked.

“No, that’s all I noted.” Tyrion shook his head. “I’ll check for new scrolls and continue to send ravens to inform the remaining lords of their new queen.”

The door opened and Missandei entered. 

“The false queen is in the far garden, overlook the bay, your Grace,” Missandei reported. “The Queensguard and several of your guards watch over her. Drogon and Rhaegal are flying over the bay, close enough to assist, if needed.”

“And Gregor?” Daenerys asked.

“He’s still in Cersei’s rooms,” Missandei assured. “The chamber doors are open. The guards can see him standing at the window, watching over the false queen.”

Missandei came back to take her place beside Daenerys. The queen smiled fondly at her advisor before turning back to Tyrion.

“What about the people of King’s Landing?” Daenerys asked. “What should we do to introduce me to my new people? How do you normally crown a new queen?”

“The High Septon pronounces you queen,” Tyrion explained. “The ceremony takes place before the nobles and honored guests. The High Septon crowns you before the Iron Throne. But we don’t have an Iron Throne anymore.”

“There are no lords, ladies or guests here,” Jon noted. “They all fled when the dragons took the Red Keep.”

“We don’t have a High Septon, either,” Jaime admitted. “Cersei killed the last one in the Sept of Baelor.”

“No septon, no nobles and no throne.” Daenerys’s voice was flat and even. “Do we at least have Targaryen banners to replace existing ones?”

“Yes, your Grace.” Tyrion made a note on his scroll. “I’ll see it’s done immediately.”

“What about a leaving ceremony?” Missandei suggested. “The people came to see you when you arrived at the Red Keep. They’ll come to see you off, too. They’ll know their new queen doesn’t just sit in a castle while others fight for her.”

“It will certainly lift the people’s spirits to see their new queen go into battle for them,” Tyrion agreed. “We can have a formal ceremony, with a newly chosen High Septon and a new throne, when you return from the war. Nobles from all around Westeros will come to see the queen who saved them from the Night King.”

Brienne exchanged tense glances with Podrick. Griff and the _Golden Company_ would be here in eight days’ time. Daenerys and her advisors were preparing for a crowning ceremony that would never occur. Griff was the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. Daenerys was focused on the war against the Night King, expecting the kingdom would be waiting for her return. Would she still focus on their battle against the Army of the Dead once her nephew came to take her crown?

“Very well,” Daenerys agreed reluctantly. “But we’re not all going. You and Lady Brienne will stay behind to parlay with Dorne. Who should we leave with you?”

“I’ll stay,” Sandor offered. “I know my way around King’s Landing. I blend with the smallfolk and can learn what they’re saying. They might be some whispers about Dorne or spies gathering information.”

“Are we going to pick up whispers in the taverns?” Bronn asked eagerly. “I’ll stay, too.”

“I’ll stay as well,” Jaime said quietly. He glanced at the dragons, now stretched out on the sofa and tables around the room, quiet but watchful. “I may not be much of a spy but, apparently, I have a role to fulfill.”

“A role to fulfill,” Daenerys repeated. She looked at Brienne. “Blood, gold, love.”

Brienne blushed crimson, her guilt nearly suffocating her. “Your Grace, I don’t believe Ser Jaime will knowingly betray you.”

“What?” Jaime demanded. “What are you talking about?”

Daenerys gave Jaime a hard look. “When my dragons were stolen from me and taken to the House of the Undying, I saw three illusions and heard a voice whisper to me. It said ‘Three treasons will you know, once for blood and once for gold and once for love’.”

“And you think I’ll be one of them?” Jaime asked. “Which one?”

“Khaleesi has faced several betrayals of blood and,” Jorah swallowed hard, “one for gold.”

“All that remains is a betrayal for love.” Daenerys lifted her chin. “Will you betray me, Ser Jaime? Will your love lead you to act against me?”

“I don’t love you.” Jaime stared at her. “I’m not here because of you. I’m here for Brienne.”

“No, you don’t love me,” Daenerys agreed. “You love another. Will you betray me for that love?”

Jaime’s glance flickered to Brienne then focused back on Daenerys. The queen waited with raised chin and squared shoulders, as if expecting Jaime to stab her through the heart that instant. Jon’s hands curled into fists while Jorah and Theon’s hands drifted to their swords. Tyrion and Bronn straightened in their seats while Varys pressed back in his. Sandor was silent and still. The dragons raised their heads, alerted by the escalating tension in the room. 

“Well?” the queen demanded.

Brienne held her breath. Love hadn’t retreated Jaime well. He’d destroyed himself time and again for his family’s love, trying to please his father, protect his brother and satisfy his sister. He’d killed enemies, allies and even his own kin for them. Tywin Lannister had tried to create a dynasty with his daughter as queen, his grandsons as kings, his granddaughter a princess and his son as lord of the richest castle in Westeros. Now, his daughter was deposed and despised, his grandchildren murdered, Casterly Rock bankrupted and his sons cooperated with the children of the men his family had killed. Love had lifted Jaime and love had crushed Jaime. 

Jaime looked at Tyrion then at the dragons raising themselves from their prone positions. His gaze went to Brienne before he finally looked back at Daenerys.

“I don’t know,” Jaime admitted. “But I do know, I’ll do anything for those I love.”


	23. Sword Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jorah smiled reassuringly. “Your honor does you credit, Lady Brienne. Khaleesi admires your loyalty to your king. Only good leaders inspire great knights.”  
> Brienne shook her head. “I’m not a knight.”  
> “You should be,” Jorah said. “You deserve it more than any of the cowards who bear the title around here.”

### Chapter 23 – Sword Keeper

“My Lady, direct the dragons further to your left and up a bit!” Gendry called. “I think those are the last of the Valyrian steel weapons.”

Brienne looked uneasily at the blacksmith as she wiped sweat off her brow with the sleeve of her shirt. Melting the throne was hot, sweaty work. The throne room sweltered from the dragonfire and was filled with thick, black smoke even though the doors and windows were open. She wore blacksmith’s gloves and an apron over the clothes she’d arrived in yesterday. She was grateful Gendry had warned her to change out of Daenerys’s lovely gifted gown before she began. 

In fact, all of Gendry’s advice and direction had been useful. He’d been open-mouthed and wide-eyed when he’d first seen the dragons but still stayed to assist them retrieve the Valyrian steel swords. Brienne’s original plan had been to allow the dragons to fire at will and pick up swords as they fell. Gendry had pointed out how that would further damage the pommels and designs, plus make it harder to clean up the melted metal flowing around the base. 

He crouched near the center of the room, out of the dragons’ fire range but close enough to call to her. Even so, he was careful to stay with Jorah as they watched her direct the dragons. The men were sitting on the floor as the soot and smoke required them to stay low to avoid the fumes. Once the few remaining swords fell and cooled, she carried them over to the men. The swords were in neat piles, sorted by type, size and damage. The men checked each new weapon with Jorah testing their balance and Gendry offering suggestions on required repairs.

It wasn’t Gendry’s advice or instruction that bothered Brienne, it was his _face_. He was tall and muscular, with blue eyes and thick dark hair cropped close to his head. Brienne had seen King Robert several times and knew a Baratheon when she saw one. Gendry was one of Robert’s bastards. Davos had sent Gendry. Did the Onion Knight know about the smith’s heritage?

“My Lady, I need to check the section the dragons just finished,” Gendry said. “I think we have all the Valyrian steel.”

Brienne nodded wearily. Her muscles ached from bending and lifting the piles of swords. The dragons, on the other hand, were energized and delighted with their game. Burning down the throne was a pleasure for them. It allowed them to finish off the hateful thing that had dared to scratch Catren and Brienne, to harm their family.

Brienne led the dragons down to the end of the hall towards the main entrance. Gendry waited for them to pass before carefully creeping back to the throne. The dragons looked at him but weren’t threatened by the handsome Baratheon bastard. 

Through the open doorways, she could see the Lannister guards outside each door, holding back the curious onlookers who gawked at the dragons. Their audience was too far away to hear them but they could see clearly. Having them around made Brienne nervous but, short of shutting down the Red Keep, there was no way to keep people away. The guards were doing their jobs, keeping people back and away from the doors. They seemed to have gained confidence now that they knew the dragons wouldn’t attack anyone actively protecting Brienne.

She checked at each door as she passed it but she didn’t see Jaime. She wasn’t concerned. She knew he had to divide his time between overseeing the guards with her and the ones watching over Cersei. He’d checked on her frequently, careful to stay out of the dragons’ fire range. The five hadn’t yet softened their stance against him, hissing and puffing when he appeared. Brienne was confident they would, in time, come around to see Jaime as she did. 

The servants had left pails of water and fresh fish to reward the dragons. The five squawked with delight and happily prepared and ate their meals. Their awestruck admirers, safely far from the doors, cried out and applauded their antics. Brienne blushed deeply, even knowing the people weren’t staring at her. She was already dull but paled into insignificance compared to the majesty of the dragons. Still, she also had to smile as she admired the five soaring and preening.

“Are you well, Lady Brienne?” Jorah came to her, holding out a goblet.

He had a matching goblet in his other hand. Brienne smiled gratefully and nodded. They shared a companionable silence as they both enjoyed the cool, fruity wine. 

“What did Gendry say about the swords?” she asked, nodding to the smith who was cautiously inspecting the smoldering remains of the Iron Throne.

“All the weapons you’ve removed will need repair,” Jorah reported. “The blades are as sharp as ever but they cannot be used until the pommels are replaced. They’ll cut the holder’s hand if we don’t.”

Brienne nodded. “It’s to be expected. I don’t think Aegon the First or Balerion the Black Dread were careful with the swords of their enemies.”

“Still, they preserved them for us to use.” Jorah frowned. “I wonder what Aegon thoughts were when he did this to humiliate his vanquished rivals. Did he have any idea his actions would save the weapons and arm the future for the war against the Night King?”

Brienne thought about it. She couldn’t understand humiliating her rivals. Even when in Renly’s kingsguard, she’d kept her head high, never acknowledging the hurtful slurs or the aggressive dislike of the other guards. She’d enjoyed shoving them into the dirt in noble contests but never played dirty or cheated to win. Aegon the First had used his dragon to take advantage of his enemies then, after defeating them, took away their dignity. 

Griff would never act as his ancestor did, even though he had five such advantages. He didn’t want to conquer the people. He wanted to help them. His kills had always been quick and clean, done to protect her, the dragons or himself. He trained the dragons to defend, not to attack. She couldn’t imagine him humiliating people or taking pleasure in their suffering. 

“No, I think Aegon the First did it to feed his ego,” Brienne decided. “The Night King had been a myth for thousands of years even during Aegon’s time. He didn’t believe in the threat. Aegon was a conqueror with a powerful dragon. I think he felt invincible.”

“Do you?’ Jorah gave her a sideways glance. 

Brienne frowned. “Do I think he was invincible?”

“No, do you feel invincible because of your dragons,” the knight clarified.

“No, I feel vulnerable,” she admitted, watching the dragons tussle with each other. “I worry for them constantly. They’re still so young and easily hurt, even without the threat of the Night King and scorpion bolts.”

“Khaleesi felt invincible before she lost Viserion,” Jorah confided. He watched the dragons play, his eyes dark and shadowed. “But now she worries, like you. These terrible times threaten her. I worried for her when we came back from Eastwatch. I worried and I feared.”

Worry was an emotion Brienne could understand. It was natural to worry about loved ones when they were enduring great trauma, such as the loss of a child. Fear didn’t make sense. Why would Jorah, one of Daenerys’s closest friends and advisors, her _family_ , be afraid of her?

“Feared?” Brienne repeated. “You feared Queen Daenerys?”

“No.” Jorah took a deep drink of his wine. “I feared _for_ her. She is a Targaryen.”

She heard Griff’s voice in her head. _“They say every time a Targaryen is born; the Gods toss a coin and the world holds its breath.”_

Brienne shook her head. “No, I don’t see madness in her, if that’s what you mean.”

“There’s a fine line between grief and madness,” Jorah explained, his gravelly voice pitched low. “She’s much closer to that line than many others. But you have steadied her, pulled her further away from that line then she’s been in all the time I’ve known her.”

Color, from embarrassment and guilt, flushed Brienne’s face. “It’s not me, it’s the dragons. They remind her life continues.”

“But a life alone, with no one to trust, to care about you, is no life,” Jorah pointed out. 

“The queen has a family,’ Brienne insisted. “She’s made a family of the people she trusts; you, Missandei, Qhono, the man who’s mention makes Missandei blush, Grey uh…”

“Grey Worm,” Jorah supplied. “The slave masters in Astapor named the Unsullied after vermin to emphasize their low status.”

Brienne recoiled in horror. “And Queen Daenerys stills calls him that demeaning name?”

“No, it was his choice,” Jorah explained. “Khaleesi _asked_ the Unsullied to choose names that gave them pride. Grey Worm said his slave name gave him pride because it was the name he had when he _chose_ to follow Daenerys Stormborn.” 

Brienne lowered her eyes, unable to meet the devoted knight’s gaze. Guilt tightened her throat. “Your queen is good woman.”

“With many enemies and traitors plotting to bring her down.” Jorah leaned closer to meet her gaze. “She needs those who love her to stand by her side, guard her back and light her way. You, Lady Brienne, have illuminated her path. I thank you for it.”

Brienne bit her lower lip, tears stinging her eyes. She wasn’t illuminating Daenerys’s path. She was merely holding ground until her king came to lead Westeros into its glorious future. She was silently aiding in Daenerys’s downfall.

“I still follow my king,” she mumbled.

Jorah smiled reassuringly. “Your honor does you credit, Lady Brienne. Khaleesi admires your loyalty to your king. Only good leaders inspire great knights.”

Brienne shook her head. “I’m not a knight.”

“You should be,” Jorah said. “You deserve it more than any of the cowards who bear the title around here.”

“My Lady,” Gendry called. 

The blacksmith stood by the pile of cooled swords and waved to them. Brienne, Jorah and the dragons were closer to the main doors, with Gendry out of the dragons’ fire range. The thick cloud of black smoke covering the remains of the throne began to rise as the fires burned out. 

“I believe that was the last of the swords,” Gendry called out. “Now we need to transport them to my shop so I can start fixing the pommels.”

Jorah began to walk back to him. “We must wait for Khaleesi and King Jon to inspect them. They may have special instructions for their care.”

Gendry nodded. “What about the throne? Do you plan to dismantle it?”

The former Iron Throne was now an eight-foot-high lump. The molten steel had flowed down the steps and onto the dais, coating it and the floor around it, in cooling metal. 

“Again, that’s for Khaleesi to decide,” Jorah explained.

“And I am here,” Daenerys announced from over Brienne’s shoulder. 

Brienne turned at the sound of the queen’s voice. She, Jon, Podrick, Tyrion, Bronn, Missandei, Davos and their guards entered the main doors. The people outside the doors bent to their new queen but Daenerys didn’t see it. She frowned at she looked over Brienne. Brienne ducked her head, knowing she looked awful with her lanky hair, red face and sweaty appearance. 

“Lady Brienne, are you alright?” the queen demanded. “You look exhausted.”

Normally, such a remark would make her blush and cringe at her homely appearance. The deep concern in Daenerys’s eyes kept the embarrassment at bay. The queen was genuinely concerned for her. 

“I’m fine, your Grace,” Brienne assured her. 

“Do you need a cool drink or a wet cloth?” Daenerys questioned. “Why has no one attended you?”

“They have, your Grace.” Brienne gestured to the table that held wine, her glass and a bowl of fresh fruit. 

Daenerys frowned, clearly dissatisfied by the care her kin had been given. She looked around, eyes flashing dangerously. Jon spoke, drawing the irate queen’s attention. 

“Brienne, have you finished removing the Valyrian steel weapons from the Iron Throne?” he asked. 

“Yes, we have,” Brienne smiled back at the dragons still tussling and playing the background. “I’m worn out but they’re having a great time.”

Jon’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Perhaps you should take them to Blackwater Bay to fly with Drogon and Rhaegal. Ships are filling up the waterway to watch the dragons fly.”

“Is it safe?” Brienne asked anxiously. “What if the ships have scorpions mounted on them or another weapon we don’t yet know about?”

“The dragons arrived only yesterday,” Davos pointed out. “No one has had time to build a ballista or any other weapons.”

“Plus, Drogon is ready for it now,” Daenerys pointed out. “He’ll be looking for threats.”

“We should take them out, my Lady, Ser,” Podrick urged. “It’s a cloudy day but it’ll be nice for us to have fresh air after being inside all afternoon.”

“Did you map out all the locations of wildfire?” Brienne asked, pitching her voice low, aware of their audience, even if they couldn’t hear their conversation.

Podrick shook his head and glanced around at their watchers. “Not all of them. It appears Cersei was stockpiling it. There’s far more of it than needed to blow this whole city to the seven hells.”

“Aye,” Bronn agreed. “I think she was planning to light up more than just King’s Landing. The biggest deposits we saw were under the Iron Gate and the River Gate.”

“The Iron Gate would mean waterways while the River Gate means the King’s Road leading to the southlands,” Tyrion said. “She could send them anywhere from those directions.”

“It’ll do no good to ask her,” Daenerys noted. “Cersei won’t tell us what her plans were for it.”

“But Qyburn might,” Jon reminded them. “We’ll see how successful Lord Varys is at getting Cersei’s Hand to talk to us.”

The all murmured agreement. Podrick went to the dragons and braced himself as Gallan landed on his shoulders. The squire grunted but held his ground as he absorbed the dragon’s weight. The observers watching from the halls gasped in amazement. Jon frowned at their audience before joining Daenerys in stroking and praising the dragons.

“That might be right good exercise,” Bronn noted. “The lad’s got much better balance and leg strength than I remember. Course you have to risk being dragon dinner to get it. I’ll keep to my sword practice.”

“The dragons will never hurt Podrick,” Brienne insisted indignantly. “And they don’t eat people. They eat fish.”

“Thank the Gods for that,” Bronn said fervently. “I know this great tavern that has the prettiest barmaids and the best fish pies in King’s Landing.”

“Lady Brienne’s dragons are far too young to go into taverns with you,” Tyrion said drily. “They’re still children.”

“I gotta start training them when they’re young,” Bronn insisted, confident now that the dragons were relaxed and away from him. “A foster father’s gotta teach his little ones right.”

Brienne was about to reply when Jorah and Gendry came to join them. The dragons watched the smith with interest but didn’t form a defensive line. Instead it was Davos who stiffen as he stared at the blacksmith. Clearly, Davos knew Gendry was Robert’s bastard. Everyone turned to look at the newcomers.

“Ser Jorah, are the swords in good condition?” Daenerys asked, leaving the dragons to go to her knight.

“Aye, Khaleesi, the Valyrian steel is in excellent condition,” Jorah replied. “They just need to be polished to remove the centuries of dirt and soot.”

“Could you inspect them clearly? It’s so dark in here from the smoke.” Jon nodded and looked at the pile of swords in the middle of the throne room. “How do we get the smoke out of here?”

“We were able to inspect the swords from the light of dragonfire and the burning of the throne,” Jorah explained. 

“The smoke is rising,” Brienne noted. “Before, we couldn’t see the top of the melted throne. It should disperse quickly now that we’re no longer burning the throne.”

Jon nodded and looked inquiringly at Gendry.

“Begging your pardon, your Graces,” Davos began but was interrupted by the blacksmith.

“My name’s Gendry, your Graces,” he announced himself. “I’m Robert Baratheon’s son, bastard son.”

Tyrion made an odd noise, between a gasp and a grunt. Daenerys’s eyebrows lifted while Jon’s eyes widened. He looked to Davos. Davos glared at Gendry.

“He was meant to keep that to himself,” Davos muttered.

Gendry shrugged and looked at the King in the North. “Our fathers trusted each other. Why shouldn’t we?”

Jon looked at Davos then at Daenerys. Her mouth was in a tight, suspicious line. She looked at Tyrion who stared at Gendry with dark, shadowed eyes. Jon turned back to Gendry.

“I saw you father once at Winterfell,” the king said. 

Gendry nodded, smiling. “I met yours, in my shop.”

The two men sized each other up. Everyone else watched silently, waiting for the bastard King in the North to respond to the bastard son of his father’s best friend. Jon studied the younger man then smiled.

Jon nodded. “You’re a lot leaner.”

“You’re a lot shorter,” Gendry shot back.

The smile faded from the King in the North’s face. Gendry’s smile died, too. Davos stiffened as everyone else watched quietly. Then Jon’s face relaxed. 

“I grew up on stories about them,” he said.

Gendry nodded. “All I ever knew was that they fought together and won. Ser Davos told me where you’re going and the reason why. Let me come with you.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Davos snapped at him. “You’re not a soldier.”

“But I am a fighter,” Gendry insisted. He squared his shoulders, straightening to his full height. “And you won’t be needing a smith with swords like these.”

Davos looked at Jon. Jon looked at Daenerys. She shrugged. Everyone else remained silent as they waited for the King in the North to make his decision.

“Do you know how to use one?” Jon finally asked.

Gendry shook his head.

“Well, that’s a problem.” Jon sighed.

“I prefer a hammer.” Gendry said. “I know how to use it.”

He looked to Davos to provide confirmation. Everyone looked at Davos, even the audience in the hall, who couldn’t hear them but sensed something important had occurred. 

The Onion Knight shrugged. “He can handle himself.”

Jon nodded then smiled at Gendry. “We can use the help.”

Davos still glared at Gendry. “As my father used to say, it’s better to be a coward for a minute than dead for the rest of your life.”

“I owe you my life, twice over.” Gendry’s voice shook with his conviction. “If what you say is true, about what’s up there, I can’t wait out this war.”

“Yes, nobody mind me,” Davos muttered. “All I’ve ever done is live to a ripe old age.”

“We do mind you, Ser Davos,” Daenerys assured gently. “But King Jon is right. We need all the help we can get.” She eyed Gendry carefully. “Even if it is from Robert Baratheon’s seed.”

“I didn’t know he was father until after he died, your Grace,” Gendry insisted.

“Plus, Gendry knows how to work with Valyrian steel,” Brienne added. “We may need his skills at Winterfell.” 

“Aye,” Gendry nodded vigorously. “These are fine swords, sharp as can be. But they need new pommels. There’s also some short swords and daggers in the pile, too. They need special grips.”

Rapid footsteps from outside the hall interrupted him. Everyone turned to see Cersei sweep into the room, face flushed red. Jaime, several bloodriders and the Queensguard followed after the irritated former queen. Immediately, Brienne and Podrick caught the dragons, holding them tightly. Jon and Daenerys shifted so the dragons were behind their backs. 

“I’ve been left outside all day with barely any food or water,” Cersei snapped. 

Daenerys glanced back at the dragons. Seeing they were alert but calm, she moved forward to face the former queen.

“You’re a prisoner, not a guest,” the new Queen of Westeros reminded her. “Perhaps staying in the cells will clarify that point for you.”

Cersei’s mouth pressed into a hard line. She sniffed then saw Gendry. “Robert,” she whispered.

Gendry’s expression hardened. “No, Gendry, Robert’s bastard. The only one you didn’t kill.”

Jaime also looked at Gendry but said nothing, his eyes widening as he stared at Robert’s bastard son. Tyrion moved to stand beside his brother, as if lending support.

“Odd how life works out.” Gendry eyed the Lannisters.

Jaime frowned at the young man. “What do you mean?”

Gendry shrugged. “Joffery ordered the murder of all King Robert’s bastards to hide the fact he was a Lannister bastard. Now, all the Lannister bastards are gone and I’m still here. Odd, huh?”

Cersei hissed and lunged for him but Jaime caught her and held her back. The dragons screeched, reacting to Cersei’s spiked emotions. Cersei’s rage was directed at Gendry so the dragons didn’t try to pull away from Brienne and Podrick. Still, their hisses made their displeasure known. Cersei froze in Jaime’s hold, turning her head to stare at the dragons with raw fear in her eyes.

“Joffery order the murder of Robert’s children?” Jaime asked her, his eyes stark.

“We did it to protect _our_ children.” Cersei’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t forget, you’ve done the same yourself.”

Jaime’s face drained of color and his hand dropped from Cersei’s shoulder. His closed his eyes as a shudder shook his frame. Everyone stared between the twins in shocked horror, except Tyrion, who hung his head. The dragons hissed again and puffed in aggression. Gendry held himself tall and strong, calmly facing the Lannister siblings. Tyrion snorted softly, his mouth twisting in pain.

“Odd, indeed,” the youngest Lannister agreed, looking up at Gendry. “Father thought he’d started a dynasty that would last a thousand years. But we made mistake after mistake and the most innocent amongst us were forced to pay for them. Now, all that’s left of our once great house is the three of us. What a sorry lot we are.”

“There’s still one yet to come,” Cersei reminded him through clenched teeth as she looked from the dragons to Gendry. “A _real_ Lannister is yet to be born.”

“One without a house to live in, wealth to sustain him, or loyal bannermen to guard his back,” Tyrion snapped. “You bankrupted Casterly Rock and killed off or turned off all the Westerlands houses who would’ve come to his aid.”

Cersei glared at her youngest brother but said nothing. Davos looked from Tryion to Gendry. The knight’s expression softened. He stepped forward and put his hand on Gendry’s shoulder. 

“Think about –” Davos began but stopped short with a gasp, his eyes widening. “Dear Gods, she was right. The red witch was right.”

Everyone stared at Davos with varying degrees of confusion and concern, watching his face flush blood red. Even the dragons and Cersei, who had regained control of herself, stared at him. The knight released Gendry’s shoulder and pointed to the melted mass of the throne, his hand shaking visibly. 

“The stars,” he gasped, “They’re bleeding.”

Everyone turned to look. The dark black smoke has almost disappeared, leaving only a thin layer of grey wisps behind. They stared at the enormous seven-pointed star stained-glass window mounted above the throne and the smaller stained-glass stars around the room. The dragonfire had melted the colored glass, leaving long, blood-red streaks down the walls, making it appear as if the stars were bleeding.

Tyrion stepped forward, his eyes so wide they dominated his face. “There will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world.”

Davos turned to stare at Brienne. “In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword.”

Suddenly, the clouds outside parted. The sun blazed brightly through the glass, burning through the remaining haze and casting a blood-red halo over the swords piled in the center of the room. Everyone gasped. Even the guards and observers peeking in from the doorways were quiet and still.

Ser Jorah, still wearing the heavy leather blacksmith’s glove, picked up a sword and held it high in the bright red glow. “And that sword shall be _Lightbringer_ , the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him.”

“They’re all red swords in the light of the Seven,” Gendry noted, his voice hushed and reverent.

“Because they’re all lightbringers, the weapons that will help us end the Long Night.” Jon strode forward to join Jorah beside the pile.

“Perhaps Azor Ahai isn’t a person,” Brienne suggested. “Many old stories are simplified to make them easy to remember. Maybe there never was a man who tempered his sword in water, a lion and the heart of his beloved.”

“Or maybe it’s true. We don’t know what dark magic it took to create these swords in the first place,” Davos pointed out.

Daenerys gasped. “The Unsullied were forced to kill infants to prove their worth. Perhaps killing their loved ones was a necessary last step to create swords that never dull.”

“Azor Ahai,” Missandei spoke the name slowly, stretching out the syllables. “As or a high. As are high. High. Elevated. Chosen.” Her eyes widened. “The Gods’ chosen warriors.”

Jon looked directly at Brienne. “There will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be _a_ lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be _the chosen_ come again, and the darkness shall flee before him.”

Podrick looked from Jon to Brienne then back again. “My Lady is Azor Ahai?”

“We’re all Azor Ahai,’ Jon corrected. “We’ve all chosen to fight the darkness, the Long Night.”

Daenerys went over to the pile of swords. She studied the swords, as if mesmerized. She reached out but Jorah caught her hand.

“Khaleesi, they’ll cut you,” he cautioned. “The pommels are damaged.”

“Here, your Grace,” Gendry hurriedly stripped off his glove. 

Daenerys held her hand out to allow the smith to slide the glove over her fingers. Then she looked back at the pile of swords to the one that had drawn her attention. She pulled out a short, slim blade with a torn silver and white pommel. Even dirty as it was, it glowed in the red light.

“It looks like the sword for a young boy,” Jorah noted.

“Or for a small woman,” Daenerys corrected. She held up the blade in the circle of red light cast in the seven-pointed star. “This shall be my sword.”

“Aye,” Jorah agreed. “And with it you become a true warrior, Khaleesi.”

“They say all the best swords have names, your Grace,” Brienne said, her voice carrying in the long, silent hall. 

Jaime turned to look at her, his eyes widening as her words. Brienne gave him a small, sad smile. She remembered him saying the same to her when he presented her with _Oathkeeper_.

Daenerys held the sword aloft, her deep blue eyes sparkling. “ _Dragon’s Eye_ ,” she announced.

There was a general murmur of agreement as everyone admired the queen’s new Valyrian steel sword. 

“Your first sword, Khaleesi,” Jorah said, “And a fine one at that.”

The queen looked long and hard at her new sword. “I know exactly how I’ll initiate it.” 

Daenerys turned and strode down to the melted remains of the Iron Throne, _Dragon’s Eye_ held carefully away from her body. Missandei, Tyrion and Jorah hurried after her, her bloodriders only steps behind them. Brienne looked to Jon who, along with Davos, Bronn, Gendry and the Lannister twins remained with her, Podrick and the dragons. 

The Queen of Westeros stopped in front of the remains of the Iron Throne. She had a quick, whispered conversation with Jorah. He helped her mount the now cool metal dais and stood at her shoulder on the step below. Missandei stopped at her left side while Tyrion stood on the right side at the bottom of the steps while the bloodriders spread out behind them.

“Lady Brienne, come to me,” Daenerys called out in her most regal tone.

Brienne exchanged worried glances with Podrick before turning to Jon. Jon looked at Daenerys before giving Brienne a reassuring smile. The dragons rose along with her, taking to the air over her head. Gasps of awe drifted in from the doorways along the throne room. Brienne walked down the hall, the dragons above her and Podrick behind her.

“Yes, your Grace?” She looked up at the queen, now slightly taller than her from her elevated position.

The dragons landed on the remains of the Iron Throne, giving them the highest vantage point in the room. Jon, Davos, Bronn, Gendry, and Jaime came to stand beside Tyrion. Brienne looked back at Podrick. Her squire’s eyes were wide as he went to stand beside Missandei, where he was joined by the Queensguard. Brienne looked over to Jon. He nodded to her encouragingly.

“Lady Brienne, many men have spoken vows they break as soon as they utter them, but not you.” The queen’s deep blue eyes were warm and soft but her voice was loud enough to be heard throughout the silent hall. “You are the truest and most noble knight I’ve ever met. I promise you, before the Long Night ends, all of Westeros will know Brienne of Tarth is the very essence of honor, bravery and chivalry.”

Heat rushed through Brienne’s body, guilt bringing a flush to her cheeks. She could barely even look at the queen. “I, I…your Grace, I don’t know what to say.”

“I do,” the queen replied. “Kneel before me.” 

Brienne looked up at Daenerys. The queen smiled at her reassuringly. Hesitantly, Brienne knelt, her knee touching the first step of the platform. Jorah spoke quietly into his Khaleesi’s ear. She nodded then gently laid _Dragon’s Eye_ on Brienne’s right shoulder.

“In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave,” the queen spoke in ringing tones.

Brienne gasped. Her body swayed as the blood rushing through her veins heated her body. She blinked rapidly, unsure if she was dreaming or if the Queen of Westeros was truly saying the words she heard. The hum of excited voices rose from the watchers outside the hall.

 _Dragon’s Eye_ was laid lightly on her left shoulder. “In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just.”

Brienne pressed her lips together but couldn’t hold in the sob that escaped her. 

Daenerys laid _Dragon’s Eye_ against Brienne’s right shoulder again. “In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent.” 

Brienne blinked desperately but the tears still leaked out of her eyes. She clenched her teeth but couldn’t stop her chin from quivering.

“Arise, Lady Brienne, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms,” Daenerys commanded.

“Ser Brienne,” Jon corrected. “Knights are called ‘ser’, not any previous title.”

“No,” the queen denied.

Daenerys left the sword on Brienne’s shoulder, discouraging her from rising. Brienne looked between the monarchs anxiously. Her greatest secret desire was about to come true. Would the monarchs take it from her only seconds before it was truly hers? Everyone was quiet and still as they waited for the queen to continue.

“I’ve already promised I‘ll never allow anyone to address Brienne anything less than a Lady.” Daenerys looked around before her gaze landed on Podrick. Then she smiled. “Arise, _Lady Ser_ Brienne, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”

The queen removed her sword. Hesitantly, Brienne stood. Applause broke out in the room. She looked over to Podrick, who grinned from ear to ear, his eyes shiny with unshed tears, as he clapped enthusiastically. Then she looked at Jon, whose uncharacteristically broad smile made him look younger and unburdened. Jaime’s eyes also glittered with moisture as he patted his left hand to his chest, over his heart, in time with the others. The dragons, picking up on her emotions, screeched and spread their wings, magnificent in their glory. 

Brienne turned in a full circle to see everyone, including the bloodriders, the Lannister guards, the Queensguard and even the servants and onlookers in the doorways, clapping. It took her a moment to realize they were clapping for _her_. The tears fell unchecked now as years of suppressed humiliations, ugly cruelties, stoic acceptance and pure heartbreak, a lifetime of festering wounds, were torn open and finally allowed to bleed clean, when Daenerys Stormborn announced to the world what she’d always known in her heart.

“To Lady Ser Brienne of Tarth.” Jon’s deep voice rose to be heard over the ovation. “Knight of the Seven Kingdoms and _Lightbringer_.”


	24. Puppet Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s my puppet, the tool I used to kill my enemies; Tywin Lannister, his house, his legacy and his seed. Through her, I’ve destroyed House Lannister and all those who would aid it.

### Chapter 24 – Puppet Keeper

The next morning Brienne appeared in the council room in another new modified gown. Today’s dress was a deep golden yellow accented with dark blue scrolls. Matching blue breeches, tan flat boots and a woven tan sword belt complemented the gown. Tyrion, Podrick, Bronn and Davos were already at the table. The dragons flew past her to greet Podrick. Tyrion glanced up at her, then back at his scroll before looking up again, eyes widening.

“My, my, Lady _Ser_ Brienne, knighthood certainly agrees with you. You’re positively glowing,” he observed.

Brienne blinked and looked down, as if she could see herself. Tyrion wasn’t a man who would feed her glib falsehoods about her appearance. It couldn’t be because she was well-rested and without a care. She’d barely slept the night before, even with the dragons curled around her. The excitement of her knighthood, conflicting with her guilt at deceiving everyone, had done battle in her mind all night.

As on the previous night, she and the dragons were invited to the queen’s chambers. Daenerys and Missandei had been in excellent moods. The queen had cake and wine brought in for them to celebrate. Brienne had tried to participate but she wasn’t used to such light-hearted gatherings. Plus, the guilt sat like a lump in her throat, making every bite of creamy lemon cake taste like dirt. Fortunately, Daenerys had blamed her quietness on her normal shyness and only teased her for her silence.

“It’s customary to thank people for their complements,” Tyrion added gently.

Brienne blushed bright red. She may not have gotten many compliments in her life but she had been given instruction on proper behavior. Her father would be appalled at her lack of social grace. He’d raised her to be a warrior _and_ a lady.

“My apologizes, Lord Hand,” she said. “You drew my attention to the lovely dress and I was distracted. Thank you for your kind words.”

“That wasn’t much of a compliment,” Bronn interjected. “Ladies like big, sweeping compliments like comparing her hair to the sun or her eyes to the sea.”

“I see. Go on then.” Tyrion looked at the knight expectantly.

Bronn stared at him. “That was it, that was my compliment.”

“With charm like that, it’s a wonder the line of ladies eager to wed you doesn’t stretch across the Narrow Sea,” Tyrion marveled.

Brienne frowned but Davos chuckled. Podrick hid his face in Catren’s neck to hide his grin but couldn’t muffle his snort of laughter.

Bronn glared it Tyrion. “Maybe because my name isn’t Lannister. Maybe it’s because I don’t have a big, golden –”

“Bronn!” Tyrion interrupted him in a hiss.

“Hand,” Bronn finished blandly. “I was going to say hand.”

Jon and Sandor arrived before he could say more. Everyone arose to greet the king. Daenerys, accompanied by Missandei and Jorah, arrived before they had a chance to sit down.

The queen looked around after everyone was seated. “Where’s Theon?”

“He was here earlier, your Grace,” Tyrion explained. “Queen Yara is better and wanted to see the men who’d saved her life. Theon has taken her to the _Iron Fleet_ so she can inspect her men and the ships.”

“I’m meeting him after we finish and can pass along any instructions, your Grace,” Davos added.

“Good.” Daenerys nodded. “I’m pleased to hear Queen Yara is better.”

“I have something else that might please you, your Grace.” Davos reached under his seat and brought up _Dragon’s Eye_.

The silver and white pommel had been expertly repaired and now had a small silver dragon’s head with sapphire eyes mounted to the end of the handle. The freshly polished sword gleamed in the morning sunlight as Davos carefully carried it to the queen.

Daenerys jumped up in her excitement, her glowing smile and shining eyes almost brighter than _Dragon’s Eye’s_ Valyrian steel. Her modified gown, the deep orange-red of dragonfire, accented with splashes of white, swirled around her. Jorah also rose to instruct her on how to insert the sword in the sheath of her silver and white belt. _Dragon’s Eye’s_ silver and white hilt blended perfectly with the queen’s new sword belt.

“Gendry worked all night to have it ready for you,” Davos said.

“Please give him my deepest thanks,” Daenerys said. Then her smile dimmed. “What about the other?”

“That’s ready, too, your Grace,” Davos assured her.

He smiled and nodded at Tyrion. Tyrion got out of his seat and picked up a flat wooden box from the side table. He carried it over to Daenerys and held it out to her. Daenerys’s smile deepened as she opened the box and admired the contents. Carefully, she withdrew a Valyrian steel dagger, a companion to _Dragon’s Eye_ with the same silver and white pommel and silver dragon with sapphire eyes.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Daenerys carefully held it up for everyone to admire.

They all nodded and murmured their agreement. Daenerys held the dagger out for Missandei to inspect.

“It’s lovely, your Grace.” Missandei leaned forward to study the weapon. “Superb craftsmanship. Gendry is truly a master. I’ve never seen a dagger this lovely before.”

“Good,” Daenerys said, “because it’s yours.”

Missandei’s eyes grew wide. “Mine? But, your Grace, I’m not a warrior. These Valyrian steel weapons should be given to those who fight the darkness.”

“You’ve been at my side from the day we met,” Daenerys reminded her. “You’ve faced riots, sellswords, warlords and harpies beside me. I want you to be able to defend yourself. You’re no less a warrior than I am. Our weapons are sisters, as are we. You wouldn’t deny your sister’s gift, would you?”

Daenerys’s advisor gasped, opening and closing her mouth but she didn’t speak. Missandei, who spoke nineteen languages, was suddenly without words.

“Missandei,” Jorah said gently. “If Khaleesi is the dragon's eye, the one who sees our path forward, then you are the dragon's heart, the one who reminds us all of the people we must save.”

“ _Dragon's Heart_ ,” Daenerys repeated. “What a wonderful name for your Valyrian steel.”

Jorah gently assisted Missandei up from her seat and showed her how to slide the dagger into the sheath attached to the silver belt she wore over her deep green and white dress. Missandei blinked rapidly but the shine of tears stayed in her eyes. She held her hands out to her queen. Daenerys returned her watery smile and grasped Missandei’s hands.

“How precious,” Cersei’s hateful voice drawled from the doorway. “Are we interrupting a tender moment?”

Everyone turned to see Cersei and Jaime in the doorway with Gregor standing behind the former queen. Brienne and Podrick immediately jumped up and went to the dragons, who were sunning themselves near the windows. Daenerys released Missandei’s hands and the warmth in her blue eyes hardened to ice.

“What are you doing here?” the queen demanded.

“I was summoned,” Cersei spat out.

Jon cleared his throat. “I requested her presence. Lord Varys spoke to Qyburn. He’ll talk to us but won’t do so unless Cersei is present.”

Cersei’s smile was cold and triumphant. “My Hand is loyal to his queen. He’ll tell you nothing.”

Cersei went to the table and defiantly seated herself across from Tyrion, head held high. Gregor stood behind her. Jaime nodded to everyone and sat down beside her. The table was between them and the dragons, giving the former queen the illusion of safety. Daenerys glared at Cersei as she, Jorah and Missandei also sat down. Brienne and Podrick exchanged uneasy glances, stroking the dragons to calm their usual tense reaction to Cersei and Gregor.

“The entire realm is in danger,” Tyrion reminded his sister. “The information he knows could be the difference between life and death for thousands of people.”

“Why should I care about them?” Cersei demanded, her eyes glittered with malice. “They care nothing for me.”

Jaime shifted beside her. “Cersei –”

He was interrupted when the doors opened. Varys and Qyburn entered the room. Varys bowed to Jon and Daenerys then went to sit beside Tyrion. Qyburn remained standing. The former Hand to the Queen wore black maester’s robes, though he had no chain. His Hand of the Queen pin was at his shoulder. The dragons leaned forward attentively, sniffing the air, but didn’t appear disturbed by Cersei’s Hand.

“Welcome, Lord Qyburn,” Jon greeted him. “Please have a seat.”

Qyburn looked at Jon then past him to Brienne and Podrick near the windows, soothing the dragons. They looked back at him with equal interest, with the same calm curiosity. Then Qyburn looked back to the entrance, where Qhono shut the door with a firm snap. Qyburn turned back to face Jon.

“I prefer to stand, your Grace.”

“Lord Qyburn, you’ve seen the creatures that are about to attack our lands,” Jon begin. “We believe you have information that may assist us in defending the people.”

Qyburn looked at Cersei, as if seeking her permission. She gave him a cold, satisfied smile. He looked back at Jon.

“I have information, your Grace,” Qyburn admitted. “But I won’t divulge it without assurance.”

“If you think to use this summons as a play for leniency for Cersei, you won’t get it,” Daenerys warned.

“I ask for assurance for myself,” Qyburn corrected. “I was acting only for the glory of my true queen. That is my purpose, that is my goal. I take no shame in any of my actions. However, I’m aware some may consider what I’ve done to be distasteful and perhaps even depraved.”

Daenerys looked over at Jon. He stared at Cersei in disbelief. The former queen sat tall and smug, a self-satisfied smile on her face. She looked approvingly at Qyburn. Qyburn’s expression didn’t alter as he waited. Jon signed and nodded to Daenerys.

“Very well,” Daenerys agreed, her voice cold. “As Queen of Westeros, I grant you clemency for your past actions serving your queen. No harm or punishment will come to you for what you share with us today.”

“I want to hear it from the White Wolf,” Qyburn insisted. “I know the man with Stark blood will be honorable and true to his word.”

Daenerys again looked at Jon.

“Very well,” the King in the North agreed. “I, Jon Snow, of House Stark, give you my word that you will suffer no harm or punishment for what you share with us today.”

“You should be Jon _Stark_ ,” Qyburn growled. “You’re a wolf. Be a wolf.”

Jon’s eyebrows rose. “Be that as it may, I’ve given you my word. No harm will come to you for the information you share today.”

“Very well.” Qyburn nodded. “What do you want to know?”

Jon looked to Tyrion. Tyrion nodded and cleared his throat.

“We want to know about the wildfire stored under the city,” Tyrion asked. “What do you know about it?”

“Many, many things, my Lord.” Qyburn smile was stiff and didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Is there a way to keep it stable?’ Jon asked. “We want to transport it north to use in our battles against the Army of the Dead.”

“I’d been working on that very project for the past few weeks, your Grace,” Qyburn spoke quietly, looking between the Dragon Queen and the Wolf King. “The problem is that wildfire is a liquid that’s vulnerable both to flame and to motion. My challenge was to find a way to keep it as potent as it was, even more so if possible, while managing it’s instability.”

“And you’ve found a solution?” Jon prompted, a hopeful smile creasing his face and lighting his normally somber eyes. “How?”

“I discovered it through my experimentation, your Grace.” This time Qyburn smiled touched his eyes. “No new knowledge comes without study and experimentation.”

“Agreed,” Jon nodded impatiently. “What did you learn?”

“The solution is tallow,” Qyburn announced, his eyes gleaming with triumph.

“Tallow?” Davos repeated. “Like we use to make candles?”

“Yes. May I demonstrate?” Qyburn gestured to a candle holder on the side table.

Jon nodded. Qyburn picked up a candle and threw it on the floor. Everyone jerked and looked at the dragons. They were alert and calm, ignoring the candle, focused on Gregor, the only true threat in the room. When it became clear the dragons weren’t disturbed, the humans looked to the remains of the fallen candle. It had broken into pieces. Many small scraps scattered but the large chunks were still connected by the wick. Everyone looked down at the broken pieces then back up at Qyburn.

“Do you see how the candle broke without exploding?” Qyburn asked, as if he were an instructor and they were his students.

“Ahh, I understand now.” Davos nodded his head. “You added tallow to the wildfire so that it’s no longer a liquid. The tallow hardens and stabilizes the wildfire. It’ll become wildfire candles.”

“Yes, exactly!” Qyburn’s face and movements became animated, as if he was pleased his pupils understood the lesson. “Not only is it stable but it’s also more potent. Why is that?”

“Because liquids, like water, are thin and will spread out,” Davos spoke slowly, as he worked out the details in his mind. “Wildfire candles can be cut into any size and shape desired, focused to the area you need it.”

“Correct, Ser –” Qyburn stopped questioningly.

Davos sat up straight. “I’m Ser Davos Seaworth, advisor to the King in the North.”

Qyburn nodded. “Correct, Ser Davos. The wildfire is now like candles but we don’t need a wick to light them. Any type of flame will do.”

“Could we coat our swords or perhaps arrows with it?” Jorah asked.

Qyburn shook his head. “There’s no value in coating swords. Wildfire explodes when it catches fire. The sword would explode in your hand.”

“But we could coat arrows. Once they land where we want them, then the archer could shoot a burning arrow to ignite them. One wildfire arrow exploding will ignite the next,” Jon surmised. “Correct?”

“Very good, your Grace.” Qyburn nodded again. “That’s an excellent application for the solid wildfire.”

“You’re a very learned man, Lord Qyburn,” Daenerys noted. “You should be teaching in a great center of learning.”

The animation faded from Qyburn’s features. “I was a maester, your Grace, until the Citadel took my chain for my curiosity. They took away my dream of learning and serving a higher purpose. For a time, I was desperately lost, ready to die, until I met my true queen. She gave me a reason to live, a purpose for my life. My every action is a tribute to her glory.”

Daenerys’s eyes widened and she turned to stare at Cersei. Everyone else also stared at Cersei, except the dragons. The former queen sat very straight, smirking upon hearing Qyburn’s reverent statement. Brienne and Podrick exchanged mystified glances. How could a woman as selfish and cruel as Cersei garner such loyalty from her Hand? What had she done for Qyburn to warrant his blind devotion?

“So, it’s safe?” Jon demanded, bringing their attention back to the topic at hand. “We can take the wildfire up north?”

“It’s not safe,” Qyburn corrected. “Just as a candle near fire isn’t safe, neither is wildfire. But it is stable, if you keep it away from flames.”

Jon relaxed and smiled again. “There’s our solution, Ser Davos. We can control the wildfire and use it strategically.”

Ser Davos nodded in agreement. There was a palpable shift in the energy of the room, a sense of relief that one difficult problem had been addressed. Then Bronn turned in his seat and raised his hand, just as a true pupil would before asking a question. Qyburn nodded graciously.

“Why’s there so much wildfire?” Bronn demanded. “Your queen planning on blowing up half of Westeros?”

“No,” Qyburn responded.

He looked at Cersei again. She nodded approvingly at him, her eyes glittering with their own version of wildfire. Beside her, Jaime stiffened but said nothing. Tyrion frowned, his mouth pulled down and suspicion darkened his eyes.

Tyrion looked between his sister and her former Hand, his eyes narrowing. “I know my sister. She didn’t stockpile all that liquid death just to admire it. Cersei may not intend to blow up half of Westeros, but she did plan to blow up something, didn’t she?”

“He answered your question,” Cersei snapped. “I will not allow you to badger my Hand.”

Jon frowned at Cersei. His eyes also narrowed. “Lord Qyburn, did Cersei have specific targets for all that wildfire?”

Cersei glared at Jon. “Lord Qyburn, you will not answer him.”

Qyburn looked at Cersei then shifted his gaze to Daenerys. The queen met his gaze and nodded gravely, encouraging him to answer. Qyburn turned back to look at Jon. The dragons shifted, sensing a change in the air, but remained calm. 

“Yes, your Grace,” he admitted. “She planned to destroy four locations; Dragonstone, Storm’s End, Highgarden and Guildhall in Oldtown.”

“What?” Cersei jumped out of her seat. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying!”

The dragons screeched and spread their wings. Brienne and Podrick grabbed at them. Qyburn jerked back, eyes widening as he stared at the five. Cersei froze, fear darkening her eyes as she stared at the dragons. 

“Sit down,” Daenerys ordered, glaring at Cersei. “Or I’ll have you wrapped in chains.”

Cersei looked from the queen to the dragons then slowly sat down again.

“Why?” Jon asked. “Why does Cersei want to destroy those targets?”

“Dragonstone and Storm’s End are on the Narrow Sea,” Qyburn explained. “Cersei anticipated the Dragon Queen would land at one or the other. She expected the dragons would ignite the wildfire and destroy the ancestral homes of the Targaryens or the Baratheons. She hated the Targaryens for refusing to marry her to Rhaegar. And she hated the Baratheons for being forced to endure Robert. Also, she’d tell the Westerosi lords Daenerys had come to burn down their homes and kill their families. But the Dragon Queen came to Westeros sooner than anticipated so there wasn’t time to deliver the shipments to their destinations.”

“I was protecting my people,” Cersei hissed. “The wildfire would kill the savage armies. I was defending our shores from foreign invaders.”

Daenerys’s face flushed at the insults. “I didn’t need to invade Westeros. The people welcomed the compassionate ruler who freed them from your tyranny.”

“Queen Daenerys, we’re here to share information, not hurl accusations,” Jon reminded her gently. He waited for her to nod before turning back to Qyburn. “Why Oldtown and Highgarden?” 

Qyburn pressed his hands together. “Before Cersei ordered the destruction of the Sept of Baelor, she had the pyromancers at the Guildhall of the Alchemists killed. She didn’t want them telling anyone of her plans or accuse her of the act. But they’d already sent their diaries of how and why they created wildfire to their main center in Oldtown. Cersei planned to blow up the Guildhall in Oldtown to destroy the evidence and accuse the alchemists of plotting against the crown to hide her guilt.”

“The destruction of the sept was a terrible accident,” Cersei insisted. “I executed the alchemists after the sept was destroyed to punish their experiments that led to the explosion.”

“And Highgarden?” Jon pressed. “Why Highgarden?”

“The remaining lords in the Reach refuse to send food supplies to King’s Landing,” Qyburn explained. “She thought destroying Highgarden would scare them into sending food aid again. Plus, she knows the people loved Margaery. Cersei despised Margaery. She wanted to destroy any reminders of the people’s queen.”

“Highgarden has no armies to protect it,” Cersei spoke through clenched teeth. “The lords of the Reach sent their men to guard Queen Margaery’s ancestral home. They have no one to gather the harvest. The wildfire would have protected the castle and allowed the lords to focus their men on harvesting food to feed the hungry masses.”

“Guards gathering harvest? Using wildfire to protect an unoccupied keep? Executing traitorous pyromancers while still in shock over your son’s death? Blowing up centuries old castles that can only hold a few hundred to stop whole armies?” Tyrion looked at his sister thoughtfully. “You really believe your own lies, don’t you?”

“They’re not lies,” Cersei insisted. “I’m the queen. I was acting to defend my people.”

“A few minutes ago, you couldn’t care less about the people. Now you say you were defending them. You said your Hand, the one who knows all your secrets, was loyal to you. Now the same man, who said his life’s purpose is to further your glory, is lying about you?” Tyrion snorted. “I don’t believe it.”

“I don’t care what you believe, you ugly little traitor,” Cersei spat.

“Ugly, debatable. Little, yes. Traitor, no,” Tyrion corrected mildly. “I care about saving all of Westeros. The first enemy we need to save it from is you.”

Jon ignored the glowering siblings. His focus remained on Qyburn. The ex-maester was calm and composed, meeting the king’s gaze, as if daring him to ask more questions.

“Why did you lose your chain, Lord Qyburn?” Jon asked.

“The other maesters considered my experiments too bold, your Grace,” Qyburn explained. “They wanted only to study the dead and not the living. How can we serve the living if we only try to understand the dead?”

Jon looked thoughtful. “You experimented on the dying, didn’t you? Trying to find out why they were dying and how they reacted to experimental treatments.”

“Yes.” Qyburn looked hopeful. “You understand, don’t you? Why can two men have the same wound, the same cause, yet one dies and the other lives? How can we save the dying unless we understand how they live?”

Jon nodded and studied the former maester. “Why does a man like you, who can do so much to protect people, choose to serve a woman like Cersei Lannister?”

The dragons tensed, sensing another shift in the air. For the first time, Catren, Allwyn and Gallan focused on Qyburn while Ardayn and Serdun continued to watch Gregor. Brienne and Podrick exchanged concerned looks. The dragons now thought the former Hand was a danger. Something in his manner or perhaps a change in his scent, had alerted them. 

Cersei hissed and raised her chin. Qyburn glanced at her, his eyes cool and unreadable. Then he looked back at Jon.

“I don’t _serve_ Cersei Lannister,” he corrected. “Cersei Lannister serves _me_. She’s my puppet, the tool I used to kill my enemies; Tywin Lannister, his house, his legacy and his seed. Through her, I’ve destroyed House Lannister and all those who would aid it.”

“What?” Cersei cried out and jumped up from her seat.

Jaime and Tyrion, both wide-eyed, looked from Qyburn to Cersei and back again. The dragons spread their wings, shielding Brienne and Podrick from the sudden emotional spike. 

“What are you saying?” Jaime snarled, rising half out of his chair, his hand curled threateningly on _Widow’s Wail’s_ pommel. 

Immediately, Brienne and Podrick lunged for the dragons, keeping them back when they began to puff and hiss. Jaime turned to the dragons and froze, half in, half out, of his chair. Jon looked from the defensive dragons to Jaime.

“Sit down and shut up!” Jon ordered.

“Allow me, your Grace,” Qyburn offered. He looked to Gregor still standing behind Jaime and Cersei. “Ser Gregor, please restrain the former queen and her lover-brother.”

Gregor immediately slapped his hands on the twins’ shoulders, forcing them back into their seats. Jaime grunted while Cersei cried out.

“Release me!” she screamed. “Ser Gregor, I order you to release me!”

Everyone watched in amazement as Gregor kept his hands on the twins’ shoulders, keeping them in their chairs with ease. Gregor had never refused Cersei’s orders before. The dragons hissed but folded their wings, watching the room with renewed focus. Qyburn looked at Cersei with open disgust in his eyes.

“Every time I think I reached the depths of her stupidity, she sinks lower and proves me wrong,” Qyburn noted. He glared at the former queen. “I’m not you. I’m not stupid enough to unleash a weapon I can’t control.”

Everyone looked back to Qyburn. Many gasped in shock. Qyburn now appeared taller, his back straight, shoulders squared, chest lifted. His face was no longer soft and his eyes no longer dull. His jaw was tight, his eyes gleamed brightly and the cunning intelligence he’d kept hidden was now evident for all to see. The soft, mailable servant who’d done Cersei’s bidding dissolved, revealing the hard, focused man underneath the bland disguise.

“No!” Cersei gasped, her eyes widening in horror.

Beside her, Jaime made a sound but couldn’t find words in the face of Qyburn’s transformation. Tyrion’s eyes were so wide his forehead disappeared under his hair. Jon glanced at Tyrion before looking at Sandor. The Hound wasn’t watching the ex-maester. Sandor stared at his brother, his expression caught between disgust and horror.

“Sandor, take Ser Jaime’s sword before we continue,” Jon ordered. “It’s best he’s not armed for the rest of Lord Qyburn’s story.”

Sandor rose from his seat next to Davos, furthest down from the dragons he could be without taking Jon or Davos’s seats, to walk along the table to Jaime. The dragons watched him with interest from their spots near the windows but weren’t disturbed by the younger Clegane brother.

“Ser Gregor, please remove Ser Jaime’s sword and hand it to your brother,” Qyburn requested.

Gregor released Cersei to reach down for _Widow’s Wail_ , keeping his other hand on Jaime’s shoulder. Jaime tried to jerk away. Gregor released Jaime and calmly smashed his elbow into Jaime’s temple, upending his chair and sending him tumbling to the floor. Cersei, Tyrion and Brienne all cried out. Brienne impulsively moved forward but the dragons hissed and stretched out their wings again, keeping her behind them.

Sandor stopped beside Jaime’s chair and waited for him to regain his seat. Jaime had a visible bruise, reddening and puffing, as he dragged himself off the floor and back into his chair. Gregor straightened, _Widow’s Wail_ in his hand. He held the sword out to his little brother. Sandor stared at Gregor but the queensguard didn’t move or react, his red eyes dull and unblinking.

“What did you do to him,” Sandor growled. “He’s not even alive anymore.”

“No, not alive, but not dead either,” Qyburn explained. “It’s been a pleasure to experiment on him. I’ve learned a great deal about the human tolerance for pain from it.”

Gregor clamped his hands again on Cersei and Jaime’s shoulders, keeping them in their chairs. Sandor gave the sword to Jon then returned to his seat. The King in the North put the sword on the floor beside him and turned back to Qyburn.

“Now, explain to us how _you_ destroyed House Lannister,” Jon ordered.

Qyburn nodded. “I came to King’s Landing with Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne, forgive me, Lady _Ser_ Brienne. I treated Ser Jaime’s infected arm, after his hand was cut off. I was sure that would be enough to grant me an audience with Lord Tywin and give me an opportunity to kill him.”

Jaime gasped but said nothing. Jon looked at him then turned back to Qyburn, nodding for him to continue. Behind Qyburn, the dragons folded their wings and eased back into guard mode.

“Initially I planned to only kill Tywin Lannister and his vile children. Then I met Cersei and my plans changed,” Qyburn explained. “I’d never met a human being like her before.”

Jon frowned. “How did she change your plans? Did she prevent you from reaching Tywin?”

“No, your Grace. I saw what she was and knew I’d found a better way,” Qyburn explained. “She was so cruel she denied food to starving babes; so selfish she’d rather her son live in misery than find happiness with another; so stupid she bullied sycophants and servants thinking that was power and so vain she fucked her brother and cousin because they were a reflection of herself.”

Cersei snarled, her face blood red, but helpless to act with Gregor holding her down. Qyburn began to shift, almost rocking in place, his self-satisfaction apparent in his energized movement. Gloating over his success had brought color to his cheeks and animation to his actions.

“I knew a creature so morally corrupt would be the perfect weapon to destroy not just Tywin but everything he held dear. I could force Tywin to watch his dynasty crumble before his very eyes, his prized only daughter the weapon that destroyed his dreams. So, I made myself helpful. I knew Cersei was too arrogant to understand who served her out of necessity and who served her for loyalty.” He glared at the former queen. “To clarify, no one, other than your supremely stupid lover-brother, served you out of loyalty. We all had agendas.”

Jaime flushed bright red and closed his eyes, as if trying to deny Qyburn’s words. Brienne’s heart ached for him. This was the weakness that had destroyed Jaime time and again, kept him from reaching his greatness. He loved Cersei above all things, even his own common sense.

“I had no trouble getting close to Cersei and her equally cruel, selfish, vile son Joffery,” Qyburn went on. “It didn’t take me long to notice Olenna Tyrell wasn’t happy her granddaughter was to marry the cowardly bastard Lannister king. So, I sent her a tonic to her rooms to help her relax. I left very clear instructions that a single drop in a pitcher of water was the only safe dose and that the tonic should never be mixed with wine in any circumstances. Doing so would increase the potency of the tonic even beyond its current already potentially lethal strength.”

Cersei’s breathing became audible. She was almost gasping for breath.

“I waited and waited. I feared Olenna hadn’t understood the value of my gift, until the wedding. Given how violently Joffery died, Olenna must have poured the entire vial into a single cup of wine. The inside of Joffery’s throat had completely burned away.” Qyburn shrugged. “A fitting end. Every word out of his mouth was as corrupted as he was.”

Cersei cried out, her eyes darkening with rage. Jaime opened his eyes to stare at Qyburn. Tyrion dropped his head, unable to look at the man who had orchestrated Joffery’s murder and his own downfall. Brienne remembered that day, the horror of watching Joffery die, the shock of Tyrion’s arrest and the mass confusion after the death of the king.

“They never thought to question how the poison could have gotten into Joffrey’s cup, even with all the food tasters and noble guests present. Any rational person would have tried to track the poison back to its source. Luckily, Cersei isn’t capable of logic or reason.” Qyburn smiled. “The vile Queen Mother immediately blamed her imp-brother for the crime. I’d snared two Lannisters with a single trap.”

Tyrion hissed and raised his head. He glared at Cersei, banked fury in his eyes. Tyrion has been married to Lady Sansa at the time, relentlessly humiliated by Joffery and sneered at by Cersei. Brienne had compassion for the youngest Lannister. Sansa had told her of how Tyrion had tried to protect her after their marriage. 

“But it wasn’t as I’d hoped,” Qyburn admitted. “Tywin was happy the imp was imprisoned. But my despair was short-lived. The imp wanted a trial by combat. Oberyn Martell was killed, thus planting the seeds for war with Dorne. Even better, my stupid puppet, Cersei, gave me Gregor Clegane, the man who’d slit my throat and left me for dead at Harrenhal.”

Qyburn drifted over to Gregor, who still restrained Jaime and Cersei. Daenerys opened her mouth to speak but Jon held up his hand and tilted his head meaningfully towards the gloating ex-maester. Daenerys closed her mouth and nodded in return. They both resumed watching Qyburn.

“It was such a pleasure to have Ser Gregor in my control.” Qyburn gently stroked Gregor’s back. “I didn’t know what I was capable of doing to another human being until I had the man who’d almost murdered me at my mercy. Do you know why Ser Gregor never removes his helm or armor, Cersei?”

Cersei looked up at Gregor and Qyburn with fear in her eyes. She shook her head but refused to speak.

“You don’t want to know,” Qyburn confided. “I’ve done things to him you wouldn’t dream of. You, who killed hundreds then walked over their corpses while you enjoyed your wine, even you couldn’t imagine what I did.”

Everyone looked at Cersei in disgust. Cersei shuddered visibly and closed her eyes. Jaime stared at his sister in mounting horror. Tyrion drew in a sharp breath and shook his head.

“Having Ser Gregor at my disposal was a joy but the imp escaped his death. And he killed Tywin too soon.” Qyburn glared at Tyrion, seated across the table. “I was upset about that. I wanted to save Tywin for last, allow him to watch the destruction of everything he held dear.”

Tyrion glared at Qyburn but said nothing. He’d been innocent of Joffery’s killing but that hadn’t mattered to his sister and father. Killing Tyrion would probably have given them a measure of joy after the misery of Joffery’s death.

“But no matter, I moved on.” Qyburn smiled. “Oberyn’s death nearly destroyed relations with Dorne. The only thing that kept them from declaring war on the Lannisters was Myrcella. The Martells truly liked her and wanted her marriage to Trystane. Not even the Sand Snakes would have harmed Myrcella if she’d stayed in Dorne, without Lannister interference. In fact, Prince Doran planned to press for her right to sit on the Iron Throne. Dorne allows women equal rights of inheritance. They felt she deserved the throne over the weakling bastard Tommen.”

Cersei whimpered and Jaime shut his eyes again. Tyrion jerked in his seat but Bronn put his hand on Tyrion’s shoulder. Tyrion shuddered but didn’t speak. 

Qyburn shrugged and continued walking. “I couldn’t let that happened. It was bad enough one Lannister bastard sat on the throne but two rival Lannister bastards? Worse, a Lannister bastard with a steady, intelligent regent to guide her? Myrcella would’ve become a competent ruler with Dorne at her back. Doran wasn’t the impulsive, selfish fool Cersei was.”

A sob escaped Cersei. Jaime moaned. Brienne stared at the ex-maester, still stunned by the reveal of his true nature. She’d travelled from Harrenhal with the man and never saw the truth beneath the bland exterior. Her focus had been Jaime, who’d regained some of his will to live once they were on their way back to King’s Landing. Qyburn had worked hard to keep him alive then only to maim him worse now with deep cruelties. 

“By then, I’d won over many of Lord Varys’s little birds all over the kingdom, including Dorne. I had them steal Myrcella’s Lannister necklace. Then I left a stuffed red viper in Cersei’s private chambers with the necklace and a threat.” Qyburn shook his head. “Along with being selfish and cruel, Cersei is impulsive. She can’t think through her actions to their consequences. Her lover-brother doesn’t even try.” 

Cersei shook her head. Brienne didn’t know if she was denying Qyburn’s words or the results of his actions. Jaime grunted but didn’t open his eyes. Tyrion watched Qyburn with fury in his eyes.

“Neither thought to question how an obvious threat, _with a note attached_ , was delivered into the Queen Mother’s private, heavily guarded chambers.” Qyburn shook his head. “Any other person, with normal intelligence, would have wanted to question the person who delivered the package or saw the package delivered. But not the incest twins. Not only did they share a womb, but they seem to share a single, semi-functional mind.”

Tyrion grunted. Jon frowned at him and Tyrion nodded, swallowing hard to control his emotions. Qyburn didn’t notice as he slowly began to walk along the table, leaving Gregor to restrain Jaime and Cersei. Brienne looked down at the dragons. Amazingly they had relaxed. Qyburn, the man currently boasting about causing the death of Jaime and Cersei’s only daughter, didn’t threaten them.

“I’d hoped Cersei would send her army and declare war on Dorne. Her forces would have been slaughtered, weakening her further, especially since I’d warn Dorne to expect them. I’d even send the Lannister army off with mild doses of my tonic, to suppress their strength. But, instead, she sent her lover-brother to retrieve their daughter.”

Qyburn was now near Daenerys at the end of the table. Jorah shifted in his seat, his hand on his sword, watching the former maester intently. Qyburn was still focused on his story, seeming unaware of Daenerys. He turned to look at Jaime.

“So, the Kingslayer went to Dorne to retrieve Myrcella. I warned the Sand Snakes Cersei would double-cross them once her daughter was back in King’s Landing. She’d break the marriage contract and marry Myrcella into another house to prevent her ascension.” Qyburn smiled. “Ellaria Sand was furious. She’d been denied revenge for Oberyn’s death. Now they wouldn’t even get the throne once Myrcella left Dorne. Killing her was the only revenge they could take on the Lannisters. Then, in their thirst for further vengeance, they killed the ruling members of House Martell.”

Qyburn waited a moment, letting his words sink in. Cersei appeared to be shutting down, her face hardening into a beautiful mask, cold and rigid. Beside her, Jaime shuddered, his face losing color. The last time Brienne had seen him so grey and colorless was when he wanted to die, after losing his hand. Qyburn noticed Jaime’s distress and chuckled.

“Tell me, Kingslayer, were you shocked stupid, well, more stupid than usual, when you found your daughter safe, happy and well-protected in Dorne?” Qyburn taunted. “Were you confused to see your daughter enjoyed her happy, well-adjusted new family? Does it break your heart to know you took Myrcella away from the only place in all of Westeros where she was truly safe? If it weren’t for your impulsive stupidity, yours and your sister’s, your daughter might still be alive today.”

Qyburn walked to the other side of Daenerys’s chair, between her and Missandei. Brienne looked down at the dragons but they were silent and still, as if listening to Qyburn. Missandei glanced at the dragons and relaxed visibly, _Dragon’s Heart_ gleaming from her belt.

Qyburn sighed dramatically. “I didn’t have time to savor my victory. Stupid, _stupid_ Cersei, in her boundless jealousy of Margaery, had given free rein to the Faith Militants. Cersei was the only one who didn’t understand they’d imprison her, too, at the first opportunity.” Qyburn glared at Cersei in utter disgust. “Only a fool stirs a snake pit then is shocked when the snakes attack him. Cersei is such a fool. Her imprisonment was nearly a disaster for me. It brought Kevan Lannister back to King’s Landing.”

Qyburn shuddered at the memory. “Like Doran, Kevan was smart and direct. He ignored my attempts to ingratiate myself to him. My meek, humble act didn’t impress him. It was Myrcella all over again. Another Lannister bastard, managed by a competent regent, threatening to become an acceptable ruler. Worse, Tommen had Margaery, a queen so beloved, the people threatened to riot in her defense. No, I needed my puppet back. Only Cersei could destroy Kevan and Tommen for me. Fortunately, she’d already told me about the wildfire.”

Tyrion’s eyes were shut, pressed together so hard the rims were red. Across from him, Cersei was frozen, eyes dry, so still she could have been carved from stone. Jaime uttered a strangled moan and covered his eyes with his hand. Instinctively Brienne moved to comfort him. The dragons hissed and spread their wings again, keeping her behind them. It was just as well. Jaime was suffering the results of his own actions. No words from her would soften the blows.

“As I anticipated, after her walk of atonement, Cersei was beyond reason. There was no impulse control left in her. Kevan wasn’t Tywin, he could guide Tommen but he couldn’t restrain Cersei. Giving her Ser Gregor gave her greater reliance on me and strengthened her false sense of control.” Qyburn relaxed visibly. “As I said before, she’s so stupid she believed ordering around sycophants and servants was a display of power. She couldn’t understand bullying those beneath her wasn’t power, it was pathetic.” Qyburn stepped back, so he was between Daenerys and Brienne. “These women have real power.”

Brienne and Daenerys exchanged uneasy glances. Both looked at the dragons, but they were still calm. The dragons sensed something in Qyburn the humans were missing. But then Qyburn had proven to be deft at hiding his true nature. The man was far more cunning and clever than they’d imagined.

“Look at these women, Cersei,” Qyburn continued. “They walked into King’s Landing and took your city, your castle, your guards, your throne and your illusion of control. They didn’t bully, they didn’t kill. They just claimed what they wanted. That’s _real_ power.”

Brienne shuddered. She didn’t want power. She wanted to be an honorable knight. She was an honorable knight, waiting to serve her king. People like Cersei and Qyburn, who treated human life like a commodity, to be traded and sold, sickened her. How did Griff, or Jon and Daenerys for that matter, manage it? How did they guard their souls from blackening under the constant onslaught of selfish, grasping people who only wanted to take, to destroy? How could a king be just and honorable when the world was not?

“Cersei wanted to destroy the Sept of Baelor early in the morning, when the High Sparrow and his militant zealots were in their morning prayer,” Qyburn continued. “She thought it would be poetic justice, killing them as they prayed for their false mercy. I immediately saw the flaw in that plan. Kevan and Margaery would still be alive, still supporting the weakling bastard Tommen, still molding him into an acceptable king.” He chuckled. “We all know how that worked out.”

Tyrion stared at Cersei, small fists clenched, nearly shaking as he tried to control himself. Bronn kept his hand on Tyrion’s shoulder, but for support, not to restrain as Gregor did. Jaime was limp, slumped under Gregor’s hand, like a man defeated. Cersei was still frozen, eyes dry and dilated until the wildfire green was only a ring around the dead black. Everyone else looked around uneasily, unnerved by Qyburn’s casual destruction. Everyone except the dragons. Qyburn didn’t bother them.

“But first, we had to distract the Kingslayer.” Qyburn moved so he was now behind Tyrion, looking across the table at Jaime and Cersei. “I didn’t think he had any honor in him but Cersei had doubts. She wanted him out of the way so he couldn’t stop her or stupidly get himself killed in the Sept. I agreed because I saw an opportunity to destroy him, his men and the traitorous Lannister supporters, House Frey, at the same time. I had my little birds smuggle a jug of my tonic along with the Lannister troops. Alas, they didn’t have time to pour it into the wine before the Frey oafs began drinking. Then the Kingslayer left early, no doubt eager to return to his sister’s bed.”

The siege at Riverrun. That was the first time she’d seen Jaime with _Widow’s Wail_ at his hip, had known he was one of the Gods’ warriors. Brienne shuddered at how close Jaime had been to dying with the Freys. He’d broken the siege and dined with the Walder and his sons. Only the greed of the Frey bannermen had saved him that night. 

Qyburn sighed. “I mourned the lost opportunity until my little birds informed me a _girl_ had killed Walder Frey’s sons. They said she was so quick and light, she moved like a dancer. The only assassins who move like that are Braavosi and the only girls who can kill like that come from the House of Black and White. I told my little bird to greet the girl with ‘valar morghulis.’ If she replied ‘valar dohaeris’ the bird was to tell her where to find my tonic and how to use it. A few days later, House Frey paid for turning to the Lannisters.”

Jon reacted to that, jerking in his seat to exchange shocked looks with Brienne. The Freys had murdered King Robb, his pregnant wife, Talisa, Lady Catelyn and the Stark bannermen. Qyburn had aided an assassin into avenging the Red Wedding. A Braavosi assassin who moved like a dancer, a girl who could water-dance. Brienne had only met one such girl in Westeros. In fact, she’d crossed blades with her – in Winterfell. 

“The Starks killed the turncoat Boltons.” Qyburn finished his circle to stand beside Jon. “Now I only had to destroy Tywin’s children and their bannermen. First and easiest was House Tyrell. Cersei didn’t even have to be talked into killing them. Olenna had sided with the Dragon Queen. The Kingslayer required a little convincing but I told Cersei what to say to him. I have to give him credit. He might be a slow learner but he recited my argument to Olenna exactly. Can you repeat it for us now, Kingslayer?”

Jaime looked at him silently, impotent rage and misery crackling in his wildfire eyes, his mouth pressed into a quivering line.

“That’s alright, I remember. I taught it to Cersei.” Qyburn cleared his throat dramatically. “You said ‘After we’ve won and there’s no one left to oppose us, when people are living peacefully in the world she built, do you really think they’ll wring their hands in the way she built it?’ What do you think now, Kingslayer? Do you want to wring your hands in the way she built your world?”

Qyburn’s gaze shifted to Cersei. She was statue-still under Gregor’s hand but tears had finally started to flow. They streamed down her cheeks and splashed on the front of her simple dress. Qyburn looked back to Jaime, pure malice gleaming in his eyes.

“Olenna was right,” Qyburn continued. “Your sister is a disease. I know. I’ve studied disease, how to contain it and how to spread it. Olenna lived to regret her part in spreading Cersei. What about you, Kingslayer? Now do you regret following your sister so blindly? You pressed yourself so closely to her, you didn’t even see her destroying your honor, your house, your family, your children and even your life. Tell me, do you enjoy living in the world she built?”

Jaime's face lost all color as the blinders finally fell from his eyes. The true price of all he'd sacrificed for his sister was laid bare for him to see. Cersei looked equally shocked, stunned by what her ambition had cost her and her family. Tyrion's gaze darted between them, fury and regret directed at both of them.

“Look at what you’ve done, for Cersei,” Tyrion whispered. “You gave her everything and she ruined it all. Like any epidemic, she infected and ravaged everyone who came into contact with her. The more you loved her, the more Father indulged her, the worse she became, until she destroyed the very best of us. Now, all that's left is the worst of us. I warned you, brother, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You were too badly infected. You lived for Cersei. Now it appears you may have to die for her, too.”

“No!” Brienne cried out.

The cry was in her head, silent and echoing. Her lips didn’t move, even though her heart twisted and ached. Bitter acceptance kept her from speaking. She could save Jaime from lawless men, ugly lies and dishonor, but she couldn’t save him from his greatest weakness. She couldn’t save him from his own heart and the instinctive desire that had shattered his whole world. Perhaps love was a powerful force after all, able to break families, destroy armies and blind men to their own fates. 

House Lannister had its roots in the Age of Heroes, thousands of years previous. It had withstood wars, treachery, and political maneuvering. The family had flourished for generations. Tywin had tried to extend that dynasty, ruthlessly plotting and killing to keep himself and his house powerful. Now it had fallen to the enemy Tywin Lannister hadn’t seen and couldn’t defeat, to the greatest power the Gods’ could offer. 

House Lannister had fallen for love.


	25. Puppeteer Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kingslayer’s decision eventually toppled his sister’s reign and put her rival on the remains of the Iron Throne. It appears he was as much your puppet as Cersei was mine.

Chapter 25 – Puppeteer Keeper

Silence hung heavy in the air, like a shimmering mist. For a moment, everyone was stunned still. Jaime breathed deeply, his eyes red-rimmed and watery, staring at nothing in shattering, aching grief. Cersei sat beside him, so still it appeared she might shatter from the slightest movement. The tears falling from her eyes were her only reaction. Tyrion stared helplessly at his brother and sister, his expression caught between anger and regret.

Qyburn watched them, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “It’s a wonder they survived this long,” he murmured, “being as blind and as stupid as they are. That’s why I had to give Ser Gregor to Cersei. I knew, without someone to protect her, her enemies would kill her within a fortnight.”

Cersei blinked rapidly but showed no other reactions. Jon looked from Qyburn to the grieving Lannister siblings then back to Qyburn.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” Jon asked quietly.

Qyburn took a few more seconds to savor the Lannister siblings’ responses before reluctantly turning back to look at Jon. The cool smile on the ex-maester’s face showed how much pleasure he took in his accomplishments. Still, he tried to smooth out his expression as he faced the King in the North.

“Yes, your Grace,” Qyburn nodded. “While Ser Jaime was stupidly gloating over the destruction of his own life, the Unsullied were walking into a trap at Casterly Rock. The Iron Fleet would attack them from behind, destroy their ships and leave them to starve. Cersei thought the gold mines had dried out and the Rock was expendable.” Qyburn rubbed his hands together, enjoying share his tale. “I knew that wasn’t so. The mines are as rich as they ever were.”

Brienne was distracted from watching Qyburn by Tyrion’s sudden twitch. He looked away from his siblings to turn at Daenerys. The queen raised her eyebrows and nodded, a faint smile on her face. It seemed Daenerys and Tyrion already knew Casterly Rock wasn’t barren. Tyrion turned back to look at Qyburn, his expression easing as he put aside his grief and focused on Qyburn’s revelations.

“Kevan may have refused me a seat on the council but he couldn’t hide his secrets from my little birds. I learned Tywin and Kevan had an ingenious method of protecting the Rock’s gold mines. Do you know how Tywin and Kevan protected the wealth of Casterly Rock for all these years, Cersei?” Qyburn taunted. “Did you really think they left the mines open for guards, servants and thieves to pilfer while they were in King’s Landing?”

Cersei didn’t reply. Jaime stared at Qyburn, blank-faced. Brienne knew Jaime didn’t care where his family’s wealth came from or how it was protected.  It only mattered to him that it was there, available for his use when he needed. He’d furnished her with a lavish purse when he’d sent her to find Sansa and Arya.

“No?” Qyburn tisked at the Lannister twin’s silence. “All the wealth in the world and you didn’t care to protect it? But why would you? You didn’t even care to protect your own children.”

Jaime growled at that. Then he grunted when Ser’s Gregor’s hold on his shoulder tightened visibly. Cersei was still and silent. Tyrion sighed softly and shook his head. Given the look he’d exchanged with Daenerys, Tyrion had thought about it and probably knew how the Rock’s gold was protected.

“Thank you, Ser Gregor. You don’t have to hold him so tightly. Ser Jaime won’t fight. He knows he’s not a hero. He’s just a soiled White Cloak and as useless as any other knight here in King’s Landing.” He waited for Gregor to loosen his grip then turned to look at Brienne, staying safely at Jon’s side, out of the dragons’ fire range. “Are you sure the Gods need him, my Lady Ser? What do the Gods want with such a cowardly, dishonorable, corrupt excuse for a man?”

“Ser Jaime is none of those things,” Brienne insisted. She kept her voice low and calm, aware the dragons were tense. “You were with us at Harrenhal. You saw Ser Jaime jump into that bear pit. He was weak and feverish from losing his hand, but he still risked his life to protect mine. He refused to leave the pit until they pulled me out first. He saved my life.”

Cersei reacted to that. She blinked again, rapidly, but was still otherwise unmoving. Jaime stared at Brienne intently, as if trying to absorb her unfaltering faith in him. His eyes were still shocked and wounded but not as dead as they’d been before she spoke.

Qyburn studied the dragons thoughtfully. The five were tense but calm, still focused on Gregor, but alert to any changes in the room that might threaten Brienne.

“Yes, he did,” Qyburn agreed. “Thus, allowing you to live and birth dragons. The same dragons that now rule King’s Landing. The Kingslayer’s decision eventually toppled his sister’s reign and put her rival on the remains of the Iron Throne. It appears he was as much your puppet as Cersei was mine.”

Brienne gasped and shook her head. That wasn’t what she meant. She’d never tried to use Jaime. He was her friend and her savior, the reason she was still alive today. She was the Gods’ warrior, alive to follow their will because Jaime had risked his life for hers. Jaime had an important part to play in the war against the Army of the Dead. The Gods had kept him alive, even when he should’ve died many times; while captive in the North, when they were in the Riverlands, after he’d lost his hand, the bear pit and in the Gold Road. He’d been one of the Gods’ warriors long before she’d realized it.

“Brienne,” Jon spoke gently, interrupting her thoughts. “This isn’t the time to go into that. Please let Lord Qyburn finish. I’m interested in hearing about the Casterly gold mines.”

Brienne gritted her teeth but nodded. Jon was right. There was far more at stake than Qyburn’s opinion of Jaime. Beside her, Podrick leaned closer, as if to let her know he understood. She flashed her squire a quick smile.

“Continue, Lord Qyburn,” Jon ordered. “How did the Lannisters protect the Rock’s gold?”

“They simply caused cave-ins to hide the live gold veins, your Grace. It made it appear the mines had run dry. They could easily clear the vein when they needed gold but made it impossible for anyone to sneak in and mine the gold themselves. That preserved the mines for future use but discouraged potential raiders and,” Qyburn smirked at Cersei, “the stupid daughter who’d killed the only man who knew where the live veins were.”

Tyrion shook his head again. Jaime looked at him and furrowed his brow. Tyrion nodded. The youngest Lannister had known how the mines were protected. Suddenly Brienne recalled their conversation at the Painted Table at Dragonstone.

_Daenerys sighed. “Casterly Rock is not much of a prize. Cersei left it open for us.”_

_“The Rock may still be useful,” Tyrion said thoughtfully. “I sent a raven to Grey Worm. I asked him to check out a few things for me.”_

“I knew Casterly Rock was a valuable target and had to be preserved,” Qyburn continued, drawing Brienne’s attention back to the matter at hand. “I’d already had wildfire smuggled into the mines. My little birds waited for the battle to end and the Unsullied to take the castle then they ignited it. Now, the gold mines are open and the wealth of Casterly Rock is out of the Lannister’s hands. The gold allowed the Unsullied to buy food and supplies in Lannisport.”

“That was you?” Missandei gasped.

She took a deep breath and exchanged glances with Daenerys. The queen smiled back at her advisor. Jorah nodded thoughtfully. Brienne could almost see them fitting puzzle pieces in their minds. In his eagerness to take the Rock away from Cersei, Qyburn had helped the Unsullied survive Cersei’s trap.

Qyburn nodded. “It also placed the Unsullied in position to kill the Ironborn men when they came ashore to sack Lannisport. All of the men loyal to Euron Greyjoy have been eliminated, weakening his naval forces. I believe the Unsullied took their ships, did they not?”

Tyrion’s expression was caught between understanding and disbelief. Daenerys, Missandei and Jorah looked at Qyburn with awed gratitude. He’d manipulated Cersei into giving away one of her most powerful assets. Once the Unsullied had Casterly Rock, the wealth of the Westerlands, gold _and_ the goodwill of the people, shifted to Daenerys. By holding the Rock and protecting the people of Lannisport from the Ironborn attack, Daenerys had shown both her military might and her compassion.

“The Unsullied lost very few men during the conquest, even though Euron Greyjoy’s forces destroyed my ships,” Daenerys spoke. “My commander said children warned them the Ironborn were coming. Was that you, too?”

Qyburn bowed to her, while still at Jon’s side. “Yes, it was. My little birds were on hand to warn your men of the pending _Iron Fleet_ attack. The Unsullied took the castle swiftly. They stayed behind the protection of the walls rather than engage in a battle for your ships. Your commander is an intelligent man. He knew fifty ships weren’t worth losing men as skilled in combat as the Unsullied.”

“Grey Worm,” Missandei spoke. “His name is Grey Worm. Yes, he’s an intelligent and capable commander. He’ll die for his men but he won’t allow them to die needlessly.” She swallowed visibly. “I thank you for protecting him, for protecting them.”

Qyburn nodded. “Of course, my lady. It’s an honor to assist those who serve my queen’s cause.”

Missandei’s eyes widened and she shared a shocked glance with Daenerys. Brienne stilled, guilt burning through her body, as hot as Drogon’s fire in the cave in the Disputed Lands. Qyburn didn’t follow Cersei, just as she didn’t follow Jon. Qyburn had sabotaged Cersei from within, all the while truthfully assuring her, he would do anything to serve his true queen. But Cersei wasn’t his queen. He’d maintained the disguise of her meek, eager servant for all this time without her, or anyone, realizing the truth. Qyburn was far more cunning than anyone suspected.

Brienne fought to keep her voice even. “Cersei was never your true queen. You let her believe that to further your own interests and destroy House Lannister from the inside.”

“Stupid Cersei, she never even asked me who my true queen was.” Qyburn snorted with disgust. “Her arrogance is so great, she just assumed it was her. What kind of a fool accepts vague words of a man’s loyalties, puts that man in positions of power and trusts him unquestioningly, without even asking him to declare himself?”

Brienne stared at him, horror-stuck. She had to force herself not to look at Jon. What kind of man indeed? A king in desperate need of warriors to march with him in the battle against the Army of the Dead. Brienne stared at Podrick, hoping the guilt eating at her didn’t show on his face. He stared back at her, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. Quickly, he put his head down, hiding his expression. Podrick’s body was rigid as he, along with the dragons, listened to Qyburn.

Brienne turned her attention back to follow the conversation. Fortunately, everyone was focused on Qyburn. They hadn’t seen her or Podrick’s expressions. She took deep breaths, knowing she had to calm down for the flush to subside from her cheeks.

“Then what, Lord Qyburn?’ Jon prodded. “What did you do next?”

“I had to turn the remaining lords in southlands against the Lannisters, to prevent them coming to Cersei’s aide. While the Unsullied leader, Grey Worm, is honorable, I ensured no one thought that of the Lord Commander of Cersei’s dwindling forces.” Qyburn smiled coldly at Jaime, who had slumped in his chair, defeated. “It was simple. The Kingslayer was already a man without honor.”

Jon looked directly at Brienne and held her gaze. Her face flushed deeper red but she understood what he wanted. He was reminding her to stay calm while Qyburn so gleefully told his tale. Contradicting him would only make the former Hand defensive and might cause him to withhold valuable information they needed. She nodded to show she understood.

“The Dothraki and the dragon had slaughtered the Lannister forces on the Gold Road,” Qyburn reminded them. “I put out whispers to the remaining lords that Ser Jaime had abandoned his men to hide under his sister’s skirts. That’s why he lived and they died. The lords decided then it was far better to die protecting their own homes and families than to die protecting the treacherous, cowardly lions.”

Bronn held up a finger. “Just so everyone knows, Ser Goldenhand here didn’t abandon his army. I saved his stupid ass and dragged him back to King’s Landing.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” Daenerys’s voice was as cold as ice. “I saw him charge me when I was trying to remove the scorpion bolt from Drogon. You saved him from direct dragonfire. I don’t know if that makes your braver or dumber than him.”

Bronn shrugged. “Sometimes, in war, you can hardly tell the difference.”

“And war is what I needed. The threat of it consumed Cersei.” Qyburn continued. “She’d lost her army and the support of the remaining houses. But she still had the Tyrell gold and Euron. He was as cruel and arrogant as she was but he had experience at war. He crowed over how the _Iron Fleet_ had defeated the Targaryen naval force. He was a threat to my control over Cersei. I knew I had to separate her from him and from the Tyrell gold. Buying an army and sending Euron to retrieve it would do the trick.”

“So, you were the one who suggested the _Golden Company_ ,” Davos surmised. “They’re the most powerful and elite private army in the world, thus the most expensive. That ensured the crown had no gold left and was back in debt to the Iron Bank. Then you, as Cersei’s Hand, wrote up a contract that obligated the company to the crown and not to Cersei. You knew their commander would pick up on it and back who they wanted to rule. The _Golden Company_ is powerful enough to be a kingmaker.”

The _Golden Company_ was more than a kingmaker, it was the army of the king. The future King Aegon the Sixth Targaryen would walk through the gates of King’s Landing a hero, simply by being the leader of the biggest and best private force in the world, even before he claimed the crown of Westeros.

“Yes,” Qyburn nodded. “I knew Cersei, in her arrogance, wouldn’t understand the significance of a contract to the crown instead of to her. I only needed a few weeks. Once Euron left for Essos, she’d have no support and war coming from all sides. All her enemies would come for the Iron Throne.” His gaze shifted to Brienne. “I expected Cersei would be deposed but I didn’t think the actual throne would be gone.”

Brienne blushed violently and stroked Ardayn and Gallan, the dragons closest her. “I’m sorry –”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jon interrupted her. “We don’t need an ugly throne. We need Valyrian steel.”

Qyburn looked thoughtful. “You posed an interesting theory, my Lady Ser. I often wondered how long infections in the blood can linger on inanimate objects. It would’ve been interesting to study it on the Iron Throne. Alas, fire, including dragonfire, will destroy residue and purify almost any infected surface.” He shrugged. “Perhaps I can experiment on Ser Gregor.”

“Why weeks?” Tyrion asked suddenly.

Qyburn wrinkled his nose, as if seeing something repulsive. For a man used to studying the dead and the dying, it was an odd reaction. But then Tyrion was a Lannister, unwanted or not. Tyrion set his teeth and looked to Daenerys. The queen nodded and looked back at Qyburn.

“Lord Qyburn, I understand your hatred for Tywin Lannister,” Daenerys said quietly, “but Lord Tyrion is not like his family. As you noted, Tywin was happy to be rid of him. Lord Tyrion has been a wise aide to me. You must overlook his past, as we are doing for you, and understand that he’s trying to help the people. Answer his questions.”

Qyburn looked from Daenerys to Jon, who nodded gravely. Still, the former maester remained quiet, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Dorne,” Tyrion said, his eyes widening. “Cersei didn’t know Dorne was marching because you didn’t tell her. You’re the reason Dorne is attacking, aren’t you? That’s why you said war was coming at Cersei from all sides and that’s why you only needed a few more weeks. Euron would’ve been gone for a least a month to bring the _Golden Company_. That’s when Dorne will attack, since they’re already marching.”

“But why?” Daenerys asked. “Why plot with Dorne when they were already my allies?”

Qyburn stared at the youngest Lannister but refused to speak. Tyrion straightened in his seat and color came back into his face. The grief receded from his expression as he began to focus on the matter at hand. Jaime was still listless, barely engaged as he watched his brother with dull eyes. Cersei stared straight ahead, her eyes fathomless and unfocused.

“He said he needed to destroy the Lannister army,” Tyrion reminded his queen. “Qyburn started plotting with Dorne before your pact with Ellaria. He didn’t know you’d cross the Narrow Sea and destroy Cersei’s forces on the Gold Road. He thought he’d have to kill the Crown’s army himself. The North and the Vale were already in open rebellion and the Riverland armies are still imprisoned at Riverrun. Dorne was his only option to destroy the army Tywin Lannister built.” Tyrion looked back at the ex-maester. “Isn’t that right?”

Brienne felt almost light-headed. They had banded together to save all of Westeros from a threat greater than any they’d ever known. They’d even come to the capital to parlay with Cersei, if possible. Qyburn had sat in their meeting, touched proof of the horror coming for them all yet he still plotted to bring another war, create another distraction, for the armies of men. What could drive an intelligent man, a former maester, to kill so indiscriminately?

Qyburn still stayed silent, ignoring Tyrion. Jon turned to glare at the former Hand.

“Lord Qyburn, I gave you _my_ assurance that no harm would come to you for your information,” Jon reminded him. “You know I’ll honor my word. You believe you’re working for a just cause. If so, you must honor your word, too.”

Jon stared directly at Qyburn, waiting for his reply. Everyone, except Gregor and the dragons, looked from the King in the North to the cunning ex-Hand. Qyburn had told them much of his master plan but the man clearly had more secrets. The former maester met the king’s gaze then finally nodded.

“Yes, your Grace.” Qyburn said to Jon. Then he looked at Tyrion. “I reached out to Dorne many months ago. It was a delicate negotiation and required significant time. I had to find contacts, with layers of secrecy to ensure neither side betrayed the other. I needed help, an ally whose web of informants was greater than even my own.”

Everyone at the table turned to stare at Varys, except Jaime and Cersei, who remained silent and shell-shocked. Brienne knew the Spider’s network of spies and informants stretched across the known world and perhaps ever beyond, but she didn’t know he had played against all sides. The former Master of Whispers pressed his hands together and nodded.

“You?” Tyrion gasped. “All this time, you knew and you didn’t tell me?”

“Lord Qyburn contacted me through our mutually shared little birds,” Varys explained. “I knew he’d tapped into my web of informants and he knew I was aware of it. He did nothing to stop the flow of information, so I allowed it. I knew what he knew. I simply gathered the information he gained and waited for his move. Then I heard what he’d done to House Frey.”

“Wait.” Jon put up his hand. “You knew what he’d done to House Frey and you kept it from us?”

“I knew he’d supplied the poison used to kill the men of House Frey,” Varys admitted.  “I didn’t know who ordered it since even the Lannisters hated the Freys. I didn’t have enough information or reason to approach him. Then he reached out to me to broker a deal with Dorne. That’s when I knew he was orchestrating Cersei’s downfall. I agreed to assist him. The enemy of my enemy can be a powerful ally.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, as least?” Tyrion demanded. “You told me when my sister put a price on my head. You told me whenever a dwarf’s head was sent to the Red Keep for her to inspect.”

Jaime recoiled in horror, his mouth dropping open. He looked from Tyrion to Cersei’s frozen expression back to Tyrion. Tyrion was too wrapped up in his indignation to notice his brother’s reaction.

“You told me every rotten thing Cersei did, every fool she slept with, every innocent she harmed, but you didn’t think to tell me you had an agent in Cersei’s court?” Tyrion demanded. “I’m Hand to the Queen and your friend. We’re on the same side. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t know why he was doing it,” Varys explained. “I didn’t know if it was a test or he had a personal grudge or supported the Dragon Queen, the Wolf King, the Ironborn King or another party. The wrong move would’ve gotten me killed.”

“Then why help him at all?” Tyrion demanded, color flushing into his face.

Varys’s voice tightened. “Because I support the people. Cersei was a terrible regent and an even worse ruler. The people maybe peaceful but they’re barely living, in the world Cersei built. The smallfolk are sick, starving and succumbing to her disease. Robert had been a bad king but at least his council ensured the population was fed and protected. Anyone is better than Cersei.”

Cersei suddenly snapped out of the shock that had held her immobile. A shudder shook her slim frame and she gasped, limp under Gregor’s hand. Beside her, Jaime shook his head, as if to reject hearing about the treacheries he hadn’t seen, defeat apparent in his slumped shoulders. Gregor’s hold on the twins hadn’t wavered.

Qyburn sat down beside Jon, across from Davos. “I knew Lord Varys had connections in Dorne. But it was a slow, delicate process. Everyone we reached out to ignored us. I’d grown desperate to find someone to treaty with me. I couldn’t destroy the Lannister army alone. Then Ellaria was captured. She had better contacts. I convinced her to help me in exchange for a merciful death for Tyene.”

“Merciful death?” Cersei raised head, light finally coming back into her eyes. “I gave Tyene the kiss of death myself.”

The manic light the former queen’s eyes was frightening to see. The dragons hissed and puffed, heightening the tension in the room. For the first time, Cersei ignored the threat of the dragons, too lost in her own miseries to register their hostile actions. Everyone else, however, did notice. They all stiffened and eyed the dragons uneasily. Brienne and Podrick leaned closer, prepared to hold them. Daenerys shifted in her chair, facing Brienne, ready to assist if necessary.

Qyburn glanced at the dragons then nodded at Cersei. “I went back an hour later and offered her a merciful death. Ellaria has three other living daughters. I gave her a reason to live for them and ended Tyene’s suffering. Ellaria gave me the code they exchanged in all their communications. Once Lord Varys had that, he was able to finally open a channel with a Dornish leader.”

“Who is it?” Jon demanded. “Can we reach him?”

“I don’t know who he is, your Grace,” Varys admitted. “As Lord Qyburn said, it was a delicate negotiation with layers of secrecy. We believe he doesn’t want to answer us now. Dorne badly wants the Lannister twins and Gregor Clegane, even more than they want the Iron Throne.”

Qyburn looked at Cersei and Jaime. For the first time, his burning hatred for the Lannister siblings was on full display. The manic glaze in his eyes was more controlled than Cersei’s but no less intense. Brienne could only stare at him. How could such a soul-deep hatred be so well hidden? Qyburn had been at Cersei’s side for months and no one had suspected. How much fortitude did it take to hide such all-consuming loathing?

The ex-maester smiled without warmth but with deep satisfaction. “My contact promised me Cersei’s walk of atonement will feel like a stroll through the gardens once they have the incest twins in Dorne.”

Cersei shuddered, fear and horror extinguishing the faint light that had come back into her eyes. Jaime kept his head down but his body jerked as if absorbing a physical blow. Brienne thanked the Gods she hadn’t been in King’s Landing to witness Cersei’s walk. Hearing about it had been shocking enough. To degrade a woman like that, strip her of clothes, protection and self-worth, to parade her in the streets, subject her to the pain and horror of physical attack…she had slain men for such acts.

Brienne would’ve happily executed the High Sparrow and his followers for that, for any woman, including Cersei. They’d claimed to represent the will of the Seven. They’d been liars as well as fanatics. The Mother’s mercy alone would have prevented such an act, if they’d truly been devout. Had that horror been the final act that had broken Cersei’s mind, separated her from any remaining rational thoughts and actions? What human being could survive such debasement without breaking?

“Dorne is looking forward to having you and your lover-brother as guests, my Queen,” Qyburn taunted.

“No!” Brienne protested. This time her cry was audible. “They can’t. We need Ser Jaime for the war against the Night King. The Gods demand it. He wouldn’t have survived all he’s endured if he wasn’t under their protection.”

Jaime looked up at her, something like hope spurting to life in his dark, haunted eyes. Jon didn’t notice. The King in the North’s eyes sparked with anger, his mouth flattened into a grim line as he stared at Qyburn. He leaned menacingly into the former Hand of the Queen.

“What else?” Jon demanded.

Qyburn’s eyes widened at the king’s glare. “Your Grace?”

“What else did Dorne promise you?” Jon elaborated. “If Dorne only wanted Ser Jaime, Cersei and Ser Gregor, only wanted revenge, you’re clever enough to arrange it. You could’ve easily poisoned them and delivered them to Dorne. Destroying the Lannister army, giving King’s Landing to Dorne, that’s a bigger plot. What did the Dornish promise _you_ for your cooperation?”

Qyburn looked at him for a long moment. “The North.”

“What?” Jon recoiled. “They promised to make you the King in the North?”

“No, your Grace,” Qyburn assured. “They promised to split Westeros in half.”

Jon shook his head. “Why? For what purpose?”

“Dorne wants the Reach and the Stormlands because of the similar climate and rich growing soil. They want the Crownlands to destroy every reminder of the families who’d taken part in the murder of their blood,” Qyburn explained. “They agreed to split the Westerlands with the North. Everything south of Lannisport would go to Dorne while Lannisport, Casterly Rock, the northern Westerlands, the Riverlands and the Vale would go to the North.”

“Why?” Jon probed. “Why do you want the North to have those lands?”

“To protect my Queen,” Qyburn answered simply. “She’ll be safe, far from the evils of Tywin Lannister and poison of his cursed seed.”

Jon jerked back and stared down the table to Daenerys. Daenerys looked back at him, equally stunned. Beside her, Jorah shifted, grabbing his sword, reacting to a threat he didn’t understand. He looked to the calm, alert dragons and relaxed his hold on his sword.

“I thank you for your protection and your loyal service, Lord Qyburn,” Daenerys said. “But the North will always be under the rulership of King Jon, no matter what title he takes. Your plan will not work. We must parlay with the Dornish and stop their march.”

“How would the Dornish take the capital, once they arrived here?” Tyrion asked thoughtfully. “The walls of King’s Landing have never fallen. Cersei invited us into the city then the dragons claimed it. Dorne doesn’t have dragons. How did they plan to breach the walls?”

“You forget the wildfire,” Qyburn reminded him. “As soon as the Dornish forces were spotted, my little birds would blow open all the gates.”

“That’s why the largest deposits of wildfire are under the River Gate and the Iron Gate. Those are the main routes Dorne would use to enter the city. They’re the gates closest to the Red Keep,” Davos pointed out.

The Iron Gate was closest to Flea Bottom, where the poorest and most vulnerable people lived. They were densely packed into narrow, filthy streets that would become death traps when the Dornish armies converged on them.

“Thousands will die in the battle,” Brienne protested. “They’re innocent.”

“Innocents die in war. It’s a grim fact,” Qyburn acknowledged. “The Dornish will arrive from the south and the sea. The people can leave from the other gates. That’s why we plan to destroy all the gates. Cersei would think nothing of locking innocents in the city, and even in the Red Keep, to use as shields.”

Everyone, except Jaime, looked at Cersei and looked away, knowing what Qyburn said was true. The former queen had blithely murdered members of her own family. She would have no qualms about killing innocent people to protect herself.

“The Dornish don’t want to hurt innocents,” Qyburn assured. “They only want the Lannisters, their supporters and Ellaria. I’ve been adding a special tonic to Ellaria’s food to keep her strong. That’s why she’s still alive. That, and the knowledge that Cersei will soon be in the hands of the Dornish, paying for her crimes.”

“Tonic?” Brienne repeated. “You’re giving Ellaria the same tonic you used to kill Joffrey and the Freys?”

“No, no,” Qyburn assured her. “I blend different tonics for different purposes, some to hurt and some to heal. It’s amazing how simple adjustments in herbs can change how tonics affect the body. One tonic can cause horrific, throat melting death while another can damage the body so subtly, it’s barely noticeable until the poison accumulates to toxic levels.” He looked directly at Cersei. “Until I have to tell her lies to explain why her hair and nails no longer grow, why she lost feeling in her fingers and toes, why her nose is numb and her monthly cycles have stopped.”

Everyone, even Jaime, looked at Cersei; from the hair that had barely grown since being cropped to the blunt fingernails and white, cracked fingertips to her still-flat abdomen. Cersei shuddered again, staring at Qyburn disbelievingly.

Jaime glared at Qyburn, banked fury adding light to his eyes. “You poisoned Cersei?”

“Not just her,” Qyburn taunted, a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. “Didn’t you notice your sister had started to drink excessively? Who am I asking? Of course, you didn’t notice. You don’t care what’s going on with her as long as she spreads her legs for you.”

Jaime flushed and his mouth fell open. Cersei shoved her hands under the table, as if that would hide the evidence. Tyrion groaned softly and shook his head.

Qyburn tilted his head, studying Jaime almost clinically “Tell me, Kingslayer, how often did you share her wine after sharing her bed? Have you noticed you don’t desire your sister as much as you used to? Have your response times slowed down? Does it take you longer to recover? Do you recall the last time you shaved or clipped your nails? Olenna warned you the disease of Cersei would kill you, too.”

Horrified, Brienne studied Jaime’s stunned face. She’d noticed at the parlay he looked tired and older, skin drawn and new grey hairs appearing in the dark blond. But he had stubble on his chin and his fingertips were pink and smooth. The poison hadn’t affected him as harshly as it had Cersei. Her beauty had begun to harden, like a cool porcelain mask instead of warm flesh.

“Why?” Jaime demanded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you do this? You already destroyed us. Why did you poison her?”

“To show the world what she truly is,” Qyburn answered just as quietly. “She’s renowned for her outer beauty, the most beautiful woman in Westeros. But inside, she’s so ugly children should scream at the terror of seeing her.”

Cersei shuddered while Tyrion sucked in breath on a sharp hiss. Jaime looked from his brother to his sister and back again, finally seeing how diametrically opposite their outer appearances were from their characters. Tyrion had always been shunned by his family for his dwarfism, despite his quick mind and kind heart. Cersei had been lauded for her outer beauty, even though her nature had always been selfish and cruel.

“The only things Cersei truly cares about is her beauty and her power,” Qyburn continued. “Her illusion of power is gone and soon, when her fingers and toes blacken, her nose crumbles, her skin cracks and bleeds, her teeth fall out, and her body shrivels and shrinks, then she’ll be as corrupted and vile on the outside as she has always been on the inside.”

Cersei began to cry, wrapping her arms around her middle, sobbing helplessly. Jaime stared at Qyburn, so stunned he couldn’t react. Tyrion was still, almost as shocked as Jaime. Qyburn smiled coldly.

“She’s as hateful as you are, Kingslayer,” Qyburn said, looking directly at Jaime. “You’re her twin in every regard. The only reason you haven’t drunk enough poison to truly affect you is because you were off doing her bidding; killing innocents, destroying lives and spreading her disease. You deserve no more mercy than she does.”

“Why?” Despair caused Tyrion’s voice to crack. “Why did you do this? I understand hating Tywin, even Cersei and Jaime or me, but why kill Tommen and Myrcella? They were innocent of our crimes.”

“So was my queen,” Qyburn snarled. “So was her child. But Tywin Lannister didn’t care about them or anyone else. Like his daughter, he only wanted power. He ordered the slaughter of my queen, her family and hundreds with her, without caring about their innocent children.”

An electric charge made everyone, including Gregor and the dragons, stiffen. Jon looked from Qyburn to Daenerys then back to Qyburn.

“Daenerys isn’t your queen?” Jon demanded.

“She’s a Targaryen,” Qyburn’s mouth curled. “The daughter of the Mad King, the result of generations of brother with sister, of bad blood.  She’s as tainted on the inside as Cersei. She just hasn’t shown her sickness, yet.”

Daenerys jerked in her seat, both shocked and insulted. Missandei covered her queen’s hand with her own, squeezing it supportively. Jorah’s hand drifted back towards his sword. The dragons puffed, sniffing the air, unsure of where the threat came from.

Qyburn shook his head vehemently. “No, my queen was good and pure. When the Citadel took my chain, I had nothing. My life’s work, my dreams, my studies were all gone, taken from me. I had no purpose, no reason to live until she saved me.”

He looked at Jon, as if expecting him to understand. Jon frowned and looked to Davos. The knight shrugged, equally mystified. Jon turned back to Qyburn but the ex-maester was no longer focused on him.

Qyburn rose from his chair to glare at the Lannister siblings. “Then Tywin Lannister took my queen and her family. He killed her but not her legacy. Her death birthed my purpose. It’s my duty to alleviate suffering. I won’t rest until the disease of Tywin Lannister’s seed is eradicated from this world.”

“Who is your queen?” Jon demanded.

Qyburn whirled to face Jon so suddenly, Jon automatically reached for his sword. But Qyburn didn’t attack the King in the North. He pressed his hands together, almost as if he was pleading with Jon.

“Don’t you see? My queen is the same as yours, your Grace,” Qyburn answered. “You’re the White Wolf, the successor to the Young Wolf. You’re brother to our fallen queen. Every move, every action I’ve taken has been to avenge her loss. I’ve faithfully served the North; I’ve killed her enemies, I’ve gathered wealth and allies to protect her, I’ve opened paths into the southlands to aide her, I destroyed her killer, his instrument and his seed, and I’m a mere month away from the destruction of King’s Landing. I did it all for the North, all for her memory.”

Jon stared at Qyburn uncomprehendingly. Qyburn suddenly fell to his knees at Jon’s feet, bowing his head so the vulnerable nape of his neck was exposed to the King in the North’s hand and sword.

“I’m the North’s servant, and through her, _your_ servant, your Grace,” Qyburn pledged. “I have been so since the day the Young Wolf, King Robb and the true queen, the Queen in the North, Talisa Stark, saved my life at Harrenhal.”

It was Jon’s turn to be shocked still, his eyes wide. Robb’s marriage to Talisa had triggered their deaths at the Red Wedding. She’d been stabbed repeatedly in the abdomen, brutally killing her and her unborn child. Robb had been shot with arrows then stabbed by the traitor, Roose Bolton. The King and Queen of the North, along with Lady Catelyn and the Stark bannermen, had died after the Freys broke guest rights, after Robb broke his agreement to marry a Frey daughter.

Brienne’s heart pounded so hard she felt light-headed again. Cersei stared blankly at the prone Qyburn, too overwhelmed to understand but Jaime and Tyrion exchanged grim, comprehending looks. Talisa Stark had barely had time to be queen in the war-torn North, but her kindness had made such an impression on Qyburn, he’d torn down an entire dynasty to honor her memory.

“Explain,” Jon snarled through clenched teeth.

Qyburn looked up from his kneeling position. “After the Citadel took my chain, I was without hope, adrift with no purpose. I didn’t know what to do. Then I met the Brave Companions. They were traveling north to Harrenhal. My cousin, Ser Jaremy, was at Harrenhal. I knew he would take me in so I accompanied them. My family has always been loyal bannerman of House Tully, Lady Catelyn’s family.”

Jon nodded, his expression caught between grief and shock. Brienne understood. Lady Catelyn had given Brienne a true purpose and genuine acceptance for the first time in her life. She knew Jon hadn’t had a good relationship with Lady Catelyn but he’d loved his brother and respected the Stark bannermen. Their deaths must have torn him apart.

“Then Ser Gregor and his men stormed Harrenhal,” Qyburn continued. “For a time, we were all prisoners. Tywin Lannister called in his bannermen. Ser Gregor and his men put all the prisoners to the sword. That’s what King Robb and Queen Talisa found when the entered Harrenhal. Two hundred Northmen slaughtered on Tywin’s orders.”

Tywin had pulled his men to defend King’s Landing, and his family, from Stannis Baratheon’s assault. He’d done so to protect his position, his daughter, his grandsons and their hold on the Iron Throne. Little did Tywin know, pulling his men from Harrenhal would trigger the collapse of the Lannister dynasty.

“But you didn’t die,” Jon pointed out. “You survived the massacre.”

“Only by the mercy of our true queen,” Qyburn agreed. “She nursed me back to health with her own hands. She told me I was lucky to be alive. She insisted that a man like me, with my intelligence and knowledge of the body and medicine, had a great purpose. I didn’t believe her. Then she was murdered by the turncoat Freys, on the order of the Lannisters.”

He snarled out their name, as if ‘Lannister’ was the filthiest, most degrading word he could think to utter. Slowly Qyburn rose, rage and vengeance crackling in the air around him, making the fine hairs on his arms stand straight out. The dragons shifted, alert and watchful, responding to the energy spike. Qyburn looked hard at Jaime and Cersei.

“Suddenly, I knew my purpose,” Qyburn hissed. “I was to be her hand of justice. I’d use my knowledge of men and medicine to destroy House Lannister. I remained at Harrenhal, planning my vengeance. The Gods favor the righteous. The Kingslayer fell into my lap and with him, the key to cleansing the world of the disease-ridden Lannisters.”

Jaime and Tyrion again exchanged grim glances. Like Cersei, Tywin hadn’t thought of how his actions affected others when he’d made his decisions. He’d never expected anyone to be able to stand up to his cruelty and brute strength. It hadn’t occurred to him his arrogance and vanity would create a weapon, his own daughter, to be used against him, to destroy his whole house.

Qyburn turned back to Jon. “Do you know what the Kingslayer said to the traitor Roose Bolton before we left Harrenhal, your Grace?”

Jon shook his head. Brienne frowned, trying to think back. Her memories of that time were a blur of images; an ugly pink dress, Roose Bolton’s cold sneer, Locke’s taunts, the enormous bear, the fear, the despair, the desperation to leave once they’d been pulled from the bear pit. Judging from the outraged disgust on Qyburn’s face, he remembered exactly what Jaime had said.

Qyburn’s breath came out in harsh pants as his outrage grew. “He said ‘the Lannisters send their regards.’ According to my little birds, the traitor Bolton passed on those regards when he, like the cowardly Kingslayer, _murdered his king_.” He turned to Jaime. “I returned those regards, Jaime Lannister, with interest. You took our sons, I took your sons. You took our daughter, I took your daughter. You took the seeds of our future, I crushed yours and the rest of your house for our suffering.”

“No!” Jaime cried. “Why didn’t you take me? When you had me at Harrenhal. Why didn’t you just take me? I would’ve gladly died for my family.”

“Because your whole family is infected with tainted blood,” Qyburn spat out. “The only way to stop an infection is to cut it all out. You understand, don’t you, Kingslayer? You remember how you screamed when I cut the corruption from your wrist?” Qyburn glared viciously at Jaime. “It’s the only way to remove the rot.”

“Not every Lannister is rotten,” Brienne protested. “Lord Tyrion convinced Queen Daenerys not to take King’s Landing with fire and blood. He knew her dragons would kill thousands if she attacked the city. Ser Jaime ended the siege at Riverrun peacefully, with few casualties.  Would they have saved the people of King’s Landing, would they have saved the soldiers at Riverrun, would they have saved _me_ if they were truly rotten?”

Qyburn wasn’t interested in her protests. He glared at the Lannister siblings, his hands clenched to control his rage.

“The Lannisters thought they were untouchable,” he snarled. “They thought they could ravage the North without consequence. But they made a fatal mistake. They didn’t kill all the eagles.”

“Eagles?” Jon repeated.

“The Citadel made me give up my family name. But the Citadel gave _me_ up and I’ve reclaimed my heritage.” Qyburn stood tall, strong and proud. “I’m from House Mallister of Seaguard. My cousin was Ser Jaremy Mallister. He was murdered at Harrenhal. We’re bannermen of House Tully, loyal to the North for generations.”

Brienne swayed with the force of her shock. House Mallister, her mother’s house, the house of the silver eagles who had hidden a secret dragon. Her heart twisted. Had Qyburn known Allyna? Had they played together as children, perhaps dreamt together of their futures? Had Qyburn known Allyna was the daughter of the Mad King, sister to the queen he’d described as also being of tainted blood?

“The lions caused their own downfall.” The rage faded from Qyburn’s voice, replaced by calm satisfaction. “You see, we eagles soar above the rest. Once we target our prey, nothing can stop us from taking it.”

_A shriek pierced the air. An eagle appeared out of the shadow of the dragon, its silver feathers brilliant in the moonlight, its wingspan enormous and its claws razor sharp. It was headed straight for the lion._

Brienne remembered her dream in dragon’s cave, the night the five were born. She’d dreamt of floating in the waters of Tarth, of seeing the wolf and the dragon, the eagle and the lion. As in her dream, she was awash in waves of turbulent emotions, unable to move, unable to reach Jaime.

“They should have ripped us out, root and stem,” Qyburn continued.

Jon’s gaze slammed into Brienne’s, his eyes mirroring her tumultuous shock. Marrying Talisa Maegyr had caused King Robb’s downfall, had almost led to the fall of House Stark. It was only Jon and Sansa’s iron wills, their combined efforts, that had kept their house from collapsing, had reclaimed Winterfell, had made Jon King in the North and had led to Arya and Bran’s return. The wolves were regathering.

 _When the snow falls and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives_.  

Robb had failed in his quest to free the North of the Lannisters’ domination. His wife and child had died with him but his queen’s mercy had birthed his revenge. Talisa had saved a powerful predator, one so quick and cunning, it had landed blow after blood-soaked blow against the lion, without the great beast realizing the attacks had come from within.

Qyburn’s eyes were as cold as a northern winter. “Leave one eagle alive and the lions are never safe.”

_The eagle landed on the lion’s back, its claws digging in, drawing rivulets of blood from the maimed beast. The lion reared up on its back legs but the eagle’s grip was too strong. The lion roared as the eagle’s beak ripped into its head. The lion shook its upper body, trying to dislodge the eagle. The lion’s blood covered the eagle, darkening the silver feathers until they shone almost blue in the moonlight._

Brienne wanted to cry out but knew there was nothing she could do. Qyburn had already taken his revenge. He had killed most of the Lannisters, defiled their name, destroyed their house and dispersed their wealth. He’d used his knowledge of men and medicine to avenge his fallen king and queen, to avenge the North.

Qyburn’s smile was as cold as ice. “Winter has come for House Lannister.”

_Winter is coming._

The motto of House Stark, a reminder that winter brought death and destruction, a warning of harsher times yet to come. Now death and destruction had come for House Lannister. The snows hadn’t yet fallen on King’s Landing but the Lannisters had. They’d fallen without even knowing how they’d stumbled. Qyburn had done what Robb Stark hadn’t lived to do. He’d brought House Lannister to the brink of extinction.

Brienne tried to move but her body was heavy, as if she was fighting through turbulent waters. She could only watch as her cave dream became a terrible reality. Under the silent gaze of the wolf and the dragon, the eagle dealt a death blow to the wounded lion. Qyburn’s final words chilled her blood but were, in the end, inevitable.

“The North remembers.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please view this Youtube video for a refresher on Ser Jaremy and the birth of the queen’s justice. Pay special attention to what happens after the line “…she robbed them of their justice.” The clip also contains another clue to the battle against the Army of the Dead, which I won’t reveal just yet.
> 
> www . youtube. Com / watch ? v = YFBdUliDGCA (no spaces)
> 
> If the link doesn’t work, the title is “Robb & Talisa Stark Saves Qyburn.”
> 
> Please leave me your thoughts and reactions to this chapter. Did you understand Qyburn’s motivation? Do you see how he’ll help his king in the battle against the Army of the Dead?


	26. Threat Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne clenched her fists, experiencing the same instinctive desire to grab her sword Jaime must have felt. The need to protect her dragons, no matter how futile a sword would be against a ballista, ignored logic and reason.

Chapter 26: Threat Keeper

Brienne dreamed she was in the Throne Room of the Red Keep. The Iron Throne had been partially destroyed with only the Valyrian steel swords still standing. She looked up and saw the young dragons circling above the throne, squawking and hissing at the hulking mass. She looked down and saw she was fully dressed in black armor, including metal gloves, made of Valyrian steel. The dragons fired on the throne. She pulled out a sword with her covered hands, the sharp weapon unable to hurt her through the nearly indestructible armor.

Soon the air filled with thick, black smoke. The grey wolf came into the room and settled on the floor, quiet and watchful. She pulled out sword after sword, so fast the blades struck and sparked against each other. Suddenly she stopped and looked back at the growing pile of Valyrian steel blades. Something glowed in their midst. She reached down and pulled out a bolt of lightning. It crackled with life and energy but didn’t hurt her. She looked to the wolf.

“I am Valyrian steel,” Brienne announced.

The wolf continued to regard her steadily. She heard a whimper and turned to see the maimed lion with the blood-soaked eagle still riding its back. She was horrified to see the eagle’s hind claws had dug so deeply into the lion they could no longer be seen. Its wings covered down to the lion’s front paw and maimed limb. The eagle’s beak gouged deeply into the lion’s head. It was almost as if the two animals were merging into one.

She tried to go to the lion but the lightning bolt suddenly became so heavy its weight dragged her arm to the ground. She tried desperately but couldn’t release the lightning bolt. The thick black smoke covered the lion and the eagle, hiding them from her view. The lion roared and the eagle cried. Their fierce thrashing thinned the smoke around them enough for her to see they were engaged in a death match.

“Jaime!” she cried, knowing the lion would die if she didn’t reach him. “Jaime!”

“Brienne, wake up!” Daenerys called sharply.

Brienne jerked awake and looked around. Moonlight spilled in through the open curtains, filling the room with pale illumination. Daenerys and the dragons were gathered around her, watching her with concern. Daenerys still had her hand on Brienne’s arm. Brienne sat up. Ardayn and Serdun went behind her to help her into a sitting position while the others gathered close.

“What happened?’ Brienne blinked rapidly, acclimating herself to her surroundings.

She wasn’t in the throne room, harvesting swords. That task had already been completed. No, her mind was telling her something important, as it had the last time she’d dreamt of the lion and the eagle. She looked around Daenerys’s sitting room, where the dragons had made themselves so comfortable, nesting into the cushions, the queen had seen no point in moving them back to Brienne’s room.

Daenerys left her to go to the hall door. The queen wore a light robe and held a single lit taper in her hand. Light spilled in from the opening, forcing Brienne to blink to adjust to the brightness. She scrambled to her feet and smoothed down her unruly hair. Daenerys had a brief conversation with the guard. She returned a moment later.

“You were restless, which woke the dragons who, in turn, woke me.” The queen grimaced. “My brother and I were often on the run while I was growing up, staying ahead of Robert’s assassins. I learned to be a light sleeper.”

The dragons gathered around them, squawking and preening, demanding attention. She and Daenerys stroked and hugged them until the five had their fill of attention. Ardayn and Serdun pulled away first, eager to return to their nests now that Brienne was calm. Gallan waited patiently for Daenerys to let go before turning away. Catren and Allwyn, as always, lingered until the women laughed and urged them back to their beds.

“I’m sorry I woke you.” Brienne shook her head, as if to clear it. “I had a disturbing dream.”

“It’s understandable, after the day we’ve had,” Daenerys commiserated. “Lord Qyburn’s actions, his calmness at carrying them out, was both impressive and terrifying.”

Brienne shook her head again. “The amount of cunning and willpower it had taken to do that, to hide his true nature so completely, I can’t even imagine it.”

“That’s because you are a warrior, Brienne, a true knight of the Seven Kingdoms.” Daenerys smiled at her warmly. “You attack your enemy directly and destroy them with a clean cut. But, sometimes, cunning is required. It’s extraordinary what he did. Qyburn manipulated Cersei into destroying an empire.”

Qyburn had understood the darkness in Cersei’s character and her thirst for power. He’d used that thirst for his own benefit, directing her like a weapon against his foes. Cersei had been so drunk on her false control she hadn’t even noticed when that power had begun to hurt her, too. She’d lost her children, her allies and even her freedom to the Faith Militants as a result of her own reckless decisions. As her brother, Tyrion, had drunk wine until it became a sickness, Cersei had imbibed false power. Quburn’s understanding of human nature had turned Cersei’s ambition into a corruption, overwhelming her and destroying her, even before he dosed her with actual poison.

Brienne shivered. “I suppose we should be grateful Qyburn is on our side. I’d hate to have that mind turned against me.”

Daenerys nodded in agreement. Knocking on the hall door interrupted them before she could respond.

“Enter!” the queen called.

The door was opened by a bloodrider but a quaking maid filled the doorway. The tray in her hands shook so badly they could hear the cups and saucers clatter. Fortunately, Missandei came up behind the terrified girl and took the tray from her. Missandei said something calming that made the girl relax visibly. She dropped a quick curtsy and hurried away.

“What happened, my queen?’ Missandei asked, bringing the tray to the center table. She waited for the door to shut before she hurried to Daenerys and took her hands. “Are you well, Dany? Aggo said you were disturbed.”

“By me,” Brienne confessed as she lit candles from the fat taper still glowing near the door. “I had a bad dream, which woke everyone.”

“I used to have terrible dreams when I first joined Dany,” Missandei confided. She was also dressed in a wrapper over her bed gown. “I dreamt I hadn’t been freed and was still under my master’s control. Then I’d wake up and be unable to sleep for the rest of the night.”

Daenerys used their joined hands to bring Missandei closer. She looked directly into the other woman’s eyes, her expression fierce. Missandei smiled warmly but the queen’s expression didn’t soften.

“You will never again be under a master’s control,” Daenerys vowed. “The day will come, when my conquest is complete, when no man will ever own another.”

Brienne stared at the young queen, unease shivering down her spine. They hadn’t yet formulated a battle plan to defeat the Army of the Dead, but Daenerys was already planning for her future conquests. Even after losing a dragon to the Night King, she still didn’t understand the enormity of the enemy they faced.

“Dany often has very disturbing, prophetic dreams.” Missandei released Daenerys and reached for the tray, unconcerned by her queen’s ambitious plans. “Tell us about your dream, Brienne.”

The dragons settled back into the cushions, more interested in returning to their own dreams than listening to Brienne’s. Daenerys helped Brienne bring the candles to the table while Missandei poured tea. It was a bizarre scene, almost a dream itself. The Queen of Westeros, her non-blood sister and her bastard niece, surrounded by dragons, guards, treachery and intrigue. Yet here they gathered, three utterly different women, sharing tea and confidences in the darkest night, with an easy camaraderie Brienne wouldn’t have understood even a month earlier.

“I think my dream was prophetic, too,” Brienne admitted. “It was a continuation of a dream that came true.”

“Came true?” Daenerys repeated. “What happened?”

Brienne told them about her dream in Drogon’s cave, before the birth of the five. “It was just like I dreamt it. I tried to reach the lion but I couldn’t swim through the waves. The dragon and wolf watched from above as the eagle bloodied the lion. I saw it but I didn’t understand it. If only I’d been smarter, understood it sooner.”

“Then what?” Daenerys prompted. “Could you have changed things? Do you think anything you said or did would have saved Ser Jaime from himself? He was too wrapped up in his sister to see reason. How would you have swayed Lord Qyburn away from his thirst for revenge? He almost died at the Lannisters’ hands.”

Brienne pressed her lips together and nodded. Her head understood but her heart still ached. Jamie and Tyrion had been so devastated by Qyburn’s revelations, they’d taken Cersei and disappeared for the rest of the day. She knew they needed to be together, to absorb and process their own guilt and blame for the fall of their house. At least, Jamie and Tyrion were processing. Cersei was still hollow-eyed and vacant, so shocked she’d even accepted Tyrion’s guiding hand without protest.

“All of this was set into motion long ago, Brienne,” Missandei said gently. “By men and their poor decisions. You had no control over them. You cannot take any blame, simply because of a dream. Dreams are like prophecies. They can have many meanings.”

“But I dreamt of a dragon and a wolf watching from above, Queen Daenerys and King Jon. They were the only logical choices,” Brienne argued. “Ser Jaime was the only lion I truly knew and I dreamed of an _eagle_. This was before I knew Lord Qyburn was a Mallister.”

“I can think of another meaning,” Missandei said, “that fits just a well but doesn’t require you to blame yourself for circumstances beyond your control.”

Brienne’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“You fought real lions in the Disputed Lands before you entered Drogon’s cave,” Missandei reminded her. “ _You_ were the eagle who cut off a lion’s paw and sliced into another lion’s head.  The dragon was Drogon, who you’d just met and the wolf was Lady Arya, who was mournful away from her family. She was the wolf you went to Essos to find. You were at a distance in your dream, watching yourself doing what was necessary, to bring yourself to the place where you brought your own dragons into the world.”  

“But I’m not truly an eagle,” Brienne argued. “My mother was a bastard Targaryen, not a real Mallister.”

“I’m not Dany’s blood, but I wear the Targaryen sigil and carry the sister blade to her sword,” Massandei pointed out. “The queen has claimed me as her sister. Who will deny it?”

“I first became a Khaleesi by marriage,” Daenerys added. “My blood hadn’t changed but my allegiance had. You knew your mother was a Mallister. When you soared above the rest, did it matter if you did so as an eagle or a dragon? The point is, you soared, you fought and you won. Do not diminish your accomplishments, Brienne.”

“I’m not,” Brienne insisted. “I’m trying to understand my dream. Tonight’s dream was as confusing as the first one.”

Confusing and perhaps just as important. Her previous dream had warned her of the fall of House Lannister, of the predator who would destroy it. She might not have been able to stop Cersei but she could have possibly saved Jaime from some pain. She’d seen him at Riverrun, while Tommen was still alive. Maybe she could have saved Tommen and, with him, Margaery.  Jaime would have still had one child and perhaps even be looking forward to grandchildren. But she hadn’t understood, hadn’t warned him and Jaime’s entire world had been destroyed.

“Tell us about it,” Missandei encouraged, bringing Brienne out of her troubled thoughts.

Brienne recited her dream as the other two sipped tea. The dragons had all fallen back to sleep, now that Brienne was no longer disturbed. Catren and Gallan shared a sofa, the cushions torn to make a nest. Serdun and Ardayn had the sofa across from them, but had chosen to make separate nests, next to each other, but with space between them. Allwyn was burrowed into Brienne’s bedding, preferring to sleep with Brienne than to nest with the others. 

“The first part of your dream has already occurred,” Missandei said. “You have already pulled out the Valyrian steel swords. What’s interesting is you were wearing an entire suit of Valyrian steel armor and you held lightning in your hand.”

Brienne went rigid. Kinvara’s prophecy rushed into her mind.

_I see you floating between the sun and a star, running with wolves and lions, soaring with dragons and eagles, parting the blackest clouds and holding lightning in your hand._

“What?” Daenerys demanded, seeing her sudden shock. “Brienne?”

“The prophecy the Red Priestess gave me,” Brienne whispered. “She said I would part the blackest clouds and hold lightning in my hand.”

“The black smoke caused by the burning throne was the darkest I’ve ever seen,” Missandei agreed. “But you only handled Valyrian steel, not lightning.”

“Perhaps it was a burning sword that had a jagged shape, like a bolt of lightning?” Daenerys suggested. “It’s possible one of the weapons your removed in the poor lighting struck a cord within you, as _Dragon’s Eye_ did for me. We should check the swords as they come back from the smith and find it for you.”

“But I have my own sword.” Brienne nodded to _Oathkeeper_ resting beside Allwyn. “Ser Jaime gave it to me.”

“Or perhaps your dream was a reminder of your duty,” Missandei suggested gently. “The bolt held you back from the lion. Your true loyalty is to your kin, the dragons, and not to Ser Jaime. I know his pain causes you grief, but you cannot lose sight of your own goals because of him.”

“I couldn’t be the eagle in my dream,” Brienne insisted. “The silver eagle was embedded so deeply into the lion, they were almost merging into one.”

“Merging?” Daenerys raised her expressive eyebrows. “Are you sure they were fighting if they were merging?”

Missandei pressed her fingers to her lips but couldn’t suppress her giggle. Brienne flushed and scowled at the same time. There was a time when such a comment would’ve puzzled her. But she’d spent enough time with Renly’s men, trampling through the Riverlands with Jaime and in Essos with Griff to understand their suggestive remarks. But the brutal battle she’d dreamt had nothing to do with physical intimacy.

“Yes, I’m sure they were fighting,” she said with great patience. “The eagle was soaked in the lion’s blood and the lion was in pain. I wanted to go to the lion because I knew it would die if I didn’t separate it from the eagle.”

“Hmm,” Daenerys murmured.

Her expression was calm but her eyes sparkled with mischief. It was clear from the smiles she exchanged with Missandei that the queen liked her own interpretation better. Brienne scowled at them again. Though she enjoyed the easy friendship the three had developed, she wasn’t used to their good-natured mockery. Daenerys reached out and patted her hand.

“Let’s bring this up in the morning council meeting,” the queen suggested. “At least we should discuss your dream against the Red Priestess’s prophecy. Perhaps there’s something significant about one of the swords.”

“You many want to leave out the part about the eagle merging with the lion.” Missandei pressed her lips together but the corners still curled up.

“Yes,” Daenerys agreed. “The mental image might confuse some. How do lions and eagles mate together, anyway?”

Brienne shut her eyes and shook her head. “You two are no help,” she grumbled.

Daenerys held her hand, Missandei took the other. Their smiles were as warm as their touch. They enjoyed teasing her but there was no malice in their words or their actions. It was the gentle mocking of those who knew their words wouldn’t be misconstrued, who blunted their jabs so they pricked but didn’t wound.

“True,” the queen agreed. “But you must admit, we are great fun.”

Despite her annoyance, Brienne privately agreed. A year ago, this would have been beyond her imagination. That she’d be in King’s Landing, an acknowledged and honored kin to the queen, sharing tea and midnight conversations with her, still baffled her. That she’d be a warrior of the Gods, surrounded by the fierce, protective dragons they’d gifted her, was more than she’d ever hoped for.

She’d prayed for a just king and a purposeful life. The Gods had given her so much more. They had given her respect, honor and happiness.  A happiness so fragile, she almost feared the day her king came to claim what was his; kingship of the Seven Kingdoms.

And her.

 

***

 

Brienne entered the morning council meeting with trepidation. A part of her wished Jaime would come so she could assure herself he was well. The other part wanted him to stay away, unsure how she’d cope with the devastation in his eyes. Tyrion, Bronn, Podrick and Theon were already gathered at the table. A woman with dark brown hair and visible bruises sat beside Theon.

“Good morning.” Brienne addressed the room but studied Tyrion.

The youngest lion looked tired and drawn, with dark circles under his eyes. He’d clearly had a difficult night. Still, he smiled and returned her greeting. Catren and Allwyn went to Podrick while Gallan flew to investigate the new woman. Serdun and Ardayn stayed at Brienne’s side.

Theon rose and nodded to the woman. “Lady Ser Brienne, this is my sister, Yara.”

Yara nodded stiffly, her gaze on Gallan. The blue dragon squawked and ruffled its feathers.  Theon turned to the dragon and smiled.

“Queen Yara, this is Gallan,” Theon introduced dutifully. “The calmest of Lady Ser Brienne’s dragons.”

Catren and Allwyn left Podrick to also meet the Queen of the Iron Islands. Yara’s eyes widened but the rest of her remained still as the dragons sniffed around her.

“The brown dragon is Catren, their leader,” Theon continued. “The blue-grey dragon is Allwyn, their second in command.” He nodded to Ardayn and Serdun, still beside Brienne. “The green dragon is Serdun and the silver-grey dragon is Ardayn. They are Lady Ser Brienne’s rear guard.”

“Welcome, Queen Yara,” Brienne greeted, moving to sit beside Bronn. “I’m happy to see you’re well enough to join us.”

“Thank you.” Yara’s voice was rough and low, as if she hadn’t used it much recently. Or perhaps it was because she barely moved her lips while she spoke. “I hear you and your dragons were an important part of my rescue. I thank you.”

Brienne was about to respond when Jon appeared in the doorway, followed by Davos, Sandor and Qyburn. Everyone rose from their seats except Yara, who was still staring at the dragons. Jon smiled at seeing her.

“Queen Yara, it’s good to see you looking better,” he greeted her. His smile deepened. “Don’t worry about the dragons. They’re only a threat to those who are hostile to Brienne.”

Yara nodded stiffly. She didn’t relax until Gallan, Allwyn and Catren flew off to their favorite spot. They stretched out their wings and basked in the early morning sun. Ardayn and Serdun looked over but remained stubbornly at Brienne’s side.

“Sōvegon Ardayn, Serdun,” Brienne urged. “There’s no threat to me here.”

Ardayn and Serdun looked between Brienne and the three other dragons sunning themselves in the corner. They rose and flew to join them just as Daenerys, Missandei, Jorah and Varys came into the room. Everyone exchanged polite greetings while the newcomers settled into their seats. Daenerys smiled warmly at Yara.

“I’m happy to see you so well, Queen Yara,” she greeted. Her smile faded as she glanced around the table. “Lord Tyrion, will your brother be joining us this morning?”

“Yes, he will,” Jaime answered for himself from the doorway.

He was as drawn and dark-eyed as Tyrion but there was a new resilience in his posture. His shoulders were thrown back and his head held high. Brienne saw Tyrion relax visibly as Jaime came to join them. Jaime glared almost defiantly at Qyburn as he passed the ex-maester’s chair. Qyburn returned his glance calmly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Where is Ser Gregor?” Daenerys asked.

“He’s in my chambers, your Grace,” Qyburn explained. “He’ll remain there until I order him to move.”

“Are you sure of that?” Jon asked. 

“Yes, my King,” Qyburn assured him. “Ser Gregor has no free will. He only does as I order him to do.” He glanced at Jaime and smiled viciously. “Rather like the Kingslayer but Ser Gregor listens to me while Ser Jaime takes his commands from Cersei.”

Jaime’s face tightened and he reached for _Widow’s Wail_. Tyrion put his hand on his brother’s arm. Jaime looked down as his brother then hiss out air on a deep breath. He relaxed and released the sword but his glare didn’t leave Qyburn.

“Speaking of which, where is Cersei?” Daenerys asked, directing everyone’s attention away from the tense confrontation.

“Confined to her chambers,” Jamie answered. “The Queensguard are watching her. She had a difficult night.”

“Shall I prepare something to calm her?” Qyburn offered, venom in his voice.

Jaime glare darkened. His position beside Tyrion, across and several seats up from Qyburn, put physical distance between the two men but their loathing was evident. The dragons growled but remained in their sunny corner.

“You’ve done more than enough,” Jaime spat. “She was in hysterics for most of the night.”

“So fortunate you were with her to provide your unique brand of brotherly love.” Qyburn smirked. “I’m sure it gave her great comfort.”

Again, Jaime reached for his sword. Qyburn watched with calm disinterest. Tyrion patted his brother’s arm. Bronn leaned back, as if clearing Jaime’s path. Brienne gasped softly at Qyburn’s undisguised malice. Podrick, who sat beside her, gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Stop it!” Jon slammed his fist on the table,

Everyone jerked and looked to the king. The dragons sat up and squawked. Brienne and Podrick turned to them. They hadn’t left their sunny corner, but they were paying attention to Jon. They focused on the King in the North with bright, attentive eyes.

“Enough!” Jon snarled, harshly enough that Brienne turned back to face him. “We all have more than enough bad blood amongst us. We’ve all done terrible things, have killed and harmed each other’s kin. We must put our personal grievances aside to focus on the greater good. If you can’t work with each other, and us, leave now.”

He waited but neither Jaime or Qyburn rose. Jon nodded, satisfied.

“We need to focus on the larger threat facing us and save our personal differences until after the war. I’d like to begin by welcoming Queen Yara.” Jon nodded to the Ironborn queen. “Second, where are we will the repairs on the Valyrian steel weapons?”

“I checked with Gendry last night, your Grace,” Davos reported. “He’s making good progress but the work is delicate and takes time. I suggest we bring more smiths to assist him.”

“Agreed,” Jon said then paused to look across to Daenerys. She smiled and nodded. He turned back to Davos. “Make sure they’re men Gendry knows and trusts. You’ll need to assign more guards. We cannot allow the weapons to be stolen.”

Davos nodded.

“Speaking of Valyrian steel,” Daenerys spoke, “Brienne had a dream about them that may relate to the prophecy given to her by the Red Priestess.”

“Melisandre,” Davos growled, his voice coated with disgust.

“No, Kinvara, the other Red Priestess,” Brienne corrected. “She said ‘I see you floating between the sun and a star, running with wolves and lions, soaring with dragons and eagles, parting the blackest clouds and holding lightning in your hand.’ This was when Podrick and I first went to Tyrosh, before the birth of the young dragons.”

“Yes.” Podrick nodded in agreement. “First she said my Lady was the light in the darkness, then she told us about the prophecy.”

“Eagles,” Tyrion repeated. “Her prophecy seems right but she didn’t say much we didn’t already know. The sigil of House Tarth is the sun and a star. You’re certainly surrounded by wolves, lions and dragons. The only surprise was that she knew about the eagles.”

“It’s the other part that relates to Lady Ser Brienne’s dream,” Missandei pointed out. “Where she parts the darkest clouds and holds lightning in her hand. That was also in her dream.”

Everyone turned to look at Brienne. She explained her dream, omitting the part about the lion and the eagle but careful to explain about the armor and the bolt of lightning. She glanced at Daenerys and Missandei but their expressions were calm and focused with no hint of the teasing they’d subjected her to during the previous night.

While everyone else’s expressions remained calm, Yara’s became grim. She drew her breath in on a harsh gasp. Everyone turned to look at the Ironborn queen.

“What did the armor look like?” Yara leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “How did you know it was Valyrian steel?”

Brienne shook her head. “I don’t know. It was a dream. I just knew, in the dream, what it was.”

“What did it look like?’ Yara repeated.

“It was black,” Brienne frowned, “with scales, like on the dragons. Why?”

Yara’s eyes widened and she leaned back in her seat. Theon looked at her with concern. The concern froze into shock at his sister’s announcement.

“Because it’s real,” Yara announced.

A charge went through the room. Everyone sat straighter in their seats. The dragons squawked and looked around, searching for the threat that had sent the shockwave through the room.

“What? You’ve seen Valyrian steel armor?” Jon asked. “Where?”

“It’s on board the _Silence_ , our uncle’s ship.” Yara looked at Daenerys. “As you know, his ultimate goal was to take your dragons and use them to rule the world.  He talked a great deal about his plans for conquest while I was on his ship.”

Yara grimaced. Beside her, Theon clenched his hands into fists and hung his head, but said nothing. Yara took a deep breath and continued.

“He wanted to be a dragonrider. He talked often about riding the dragons to victory.” She paused when Daenerys snorted with disgust. “He thought the Valyrian steel armor would protect him from the dragons.”

“Then he was a fool,” Jorah said. “Valyrian steel may have a hotter melting point but it still heats. He’d be cooked alive inside that armor if a dragon fired on him.”

Jon started at that, his hands curled into fists. Jorah flushed. Clearly, he knew Jon’s grandfather had been burned alive in his armor at the orders of the Mad King.

“I’m sorry, your Grace,” Jorah apologized. “I didn’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories.”

Jon unclenched his fist. “It’s fine, Ser Jorah. We can’t change the past. We’re here to discuss the tools we can take into battle against the Army of the Dead. The armor will be an important tool but not against dragons.”

“The only real threat to the dragons are ballistas.” Daenerys looked pointedly at Qyburn. “Like the one that wounded Drogon.”

Brienne also looked at Qyburn. “You built those scorpions, didn’t you?”

“They were built to my specifications, my Lady _Ser_.” Qyburn smiled as he emphasized her new title. “I created them on Cersei’s orders. The big dragon destroyed the ones I’d had built.”

If the scorpions were capable of wounding Drogon, they would be able to kill the five younger dragons. Their scales were still developing and hadn’t become the hard armor Drogon and Rhaegal enjoyed. Brienne clenched her fists, experiencing the same instinctive desire to grab her sword Jaime must have felt. The need to protect her dragons, no matter how futile a sword would be against a ballista, ignored logic and reason. The dragons straightened, sensing her distress, but didn’t hiss or come to her side. They looked to the table but remained calm in the face of the man who had built a weapon to attack dragons.

“Are you building more?” Brienne demanded.

“Not at this time,” Qyburn assured her.

“Can you build more?” Jon asked.

“Your Grace!” Brienne gasped.

Down at the end of the table, Daenerys also drew in her breath with an audible hiss. Jon looked from her to Brienne and raised his hands.

“We still have to contend with Viserion,” he reminded them gently.

“I can have more built, your Grace,” Qyburn confirmed. “But you should know scorpions have significant limitations.”

“What limitations?” Daenerys demanded. “Can we use them to protect the other dragons?”

Qyburn nodded. “Yes, you can use their weaknesses to your advantage. Their first limitation is that they must be worked by a man. A ballista without a man to arm and shoot it is useless.”

He paused and waited for his students to nod their understanding. They did. Qyburn rubbed his hands and squared his shoulders, apparently pleased to deliver another lecture.

“Their second limitation is the man himself,” Qyburn continued. “He can only aim and shoot at what he can see. He cannot shoot at night, or through fog, smoke or cloud cover.”

“Or fire,” Jorah added. “If we shoot wildfire arrows at the ballistas then ignite them, the dragons could fly through the cover of fire and destroy any scorpions the wildfire didn’t blow up.”

Qyburn nodded enthusiastically, warming to his topic. “Excellent deduction, Ser –?”

“Ser Jorah Mormont,” Jorah supplied.

The former maester studied him thoughtfully. “Of House Mormont?”

“Aye, once up a time,” Jorah admitted. “Now, I follow my Khaleesi, Queen Daenerys.”

Qyburn nodded then returned to his lesson. “The third limitation of the scorpions are the gears. They can only move in and to a maximum angle.”

“Aye,” Bronn agreed. “I found that out the hard way. They can’t shoot up or down. They can only shoot on an angle.”

“An angle?” Missandei asked. “What does that mean?”

“An angle is the range of motion for an object,” Qyburn explained. “This is the range of motion for a scorpion.”

He held his right arm straight out at the shoulder. Then he outstretched his left arm so it touched his ear, forming a seventy-degree angle.

“Your right arm is even with the floor,” Daenerys noted. “A dragon wouldn’t fly so low to the ground.”

“But he could fly below the scorpion if it’s mounted on a wall, Khaleesi,” Jorah explained. “The ballista can’t shoot down.”

“That means a ballista on a ship can be defeated just as easily,” Theon noted. “The dragons can swim. They can attack a ship from underneath. The scorpions won’t work, even if the sailors see the dragon in the water.”

“A scorpion can’t shoot straight up, either,” Brienne pointed out. “That means a dragon can come straight down and destroy the ballista.”

“Very good.” Qyburn actually clapped his hands as he smiled at her.

“That’s all good information but we don’t plan to attack our own dragons. We need to place the ballistas at every Night’s Watch castle,” Jon explained. “We’ll tip them with dragonglass bolts. That will tell us in a single strike if dragonglass is effective against Viserion.”

Daenerys drew in her breath sharply, her face flushed, clearly distressed by the plan to attack her dragon, even though it was already dead. Jon stopped speaking to look at her with concern. Missandei caught her queen’s hand and squeezed it supportively. Daenerys smiled wanly and nodded to Jon.

“The scorpions are the only weapon we have to use against dragons,” Jon finished apologetically.

“No, they aren’t,” Yara countered quietly.

Again, every turned to stare at her. She sat calm and still, her face covered in yellowing bruises but her eyes clear and focused.

“What do you mean?” Jon demanded.

“There’s another weapon,” Yara met his gaze. “My uncle boasted of it and even showed it to me. It’s a horn.”

“A horn?” Daenerys repeated. “What do you mean?”

“It’s the horn from a dragon, even bigger than your biggest dragon,” Yara explained. “He had his men blow into it on several occasions.” She shuddered visibly. “It made a sound like the screams of the dead. My whole body felt like it was on fire when I had to listen to it. Worse, whoever he forced to blow it died within hours.”

“They died from blowing the horn?” Tyrion asked, eyes widening in shock.

Yara nodded.

“Then why blow into it?” Tyrion demanded. “Did he do it to punish the men?”

“He liked the sound of it.” Yara snorted with disgust. “First, he cut out the tongues of his men because he wanted silence, then he stole a horn that wails so horribly, it’s almost enough to wake the dead.”

“Was that what he wanted to do?” Jon demanded. “Did he think the horn would raise the dead? Was he trying to be like the Night King?”

“No, he wanted to be like Queen Daenerys or Lady Ser Brienne,” Yara clarified. “He wanted to control dragons.”

“The horn controls dragons?” Brienne gasped.

Yara looked at her then beyond her to the dragons. The five were alert, sensitive to the emotional spike in the room. Allwyn flew into Brienne’s lap, as if to reassure her. Brienne held the blue-grey dragon close. Podrick looked back to the other dragons anxiously, but they were still calm. Yara looked at Allwyn then up at Brienne.

“I don’t know if it can control dragons. There were no dragons around when he blew it, but that was his goal.” Yara turned to Daenerys. “He wanted your dragons. These little dragons weren’t here when he was boasting about becoming a dragon master. He said the horn would turn your dragons into his slaves.”

Daenerys gasped. Her face went white as it drained of color. Brienne felt so light-headed, she was sure her own face was equally pale. She grasped the edge of the table for support. Allwyn flew out of her lap and onto the table. The blue-grey dragon watched her while the other dragons straightened and hissed, trying to find what had upset Brienne. Podrick pulled Allwyn into his lap and held tight, as though trying to protect the dragon from the new threat.

 “Where is it?” Daenerys demanded through gritted teeth. “Where did he keep it?”

“It’s in his cabin on the _Silence_ ,” Yara said. “He called it _Dragonbinder_.”

Brienne jumped up from her seat. “We have to get it. Get it and destroy it. We cannot allow such a thing to exist, if there’s any chance it can hurt or control our dragons.” Her hand went for her sword, even though _Oathkeeper_ was no use against an instrument that might control dragons.

Jon got up, too, and held up his hands up in a calming gesture. “Yes, we’ll get it but you can’t go, Brienne. You have to stay here with the dragons. We don’t want them anywhere near the _Silence_ until we secure this horn.”

“Secure!” Daenerys’s voice with shrill with her outrage. “We don’t need to secure it. We need to destroy it.”

Theon rose from his seat. “Where is it, Yara? What does the horn look like?”

Yara rose from her seat with a grimace. It was clear she was still in pain. “The armor is on a stand in his cabin. The horn was kept in a wooden box under the bunk. It looks like a dragon’s horn with a black shine to it and bands of red, gold and steel with some kind of writing on it. I can show you where he had it last.”

“No,” Jon disagreed. “Yara, sit down. Theon will go to the _Silence_ and find it.”

“The armor is heavy,” Yara warned. “It’s made for a large man.”

Jon nodded. “Sandor, go with Theon. Bring back the armor and the horn. The horn is your first priority. We can’t let anyone else have it.”

Bronn also stood. “Podrick and I will go with you. You might need help.” He glanced back at the five and straightened his sword belt. “A foster father can’t let anybody steal his dragons out from under him, can he? It might reflect badly on my parenting skills, at the least.”

Bronn’s tone was mocking but it didn’t completely disguise the urgency in his voice.  He nodded to Brienne as he joined Sandor and Theon. Podrick urged Allwyn out of his lap. He watched the dragon fly back to the corner to join the others. The dragons puffed and hissed, sniffing the air to try to pinpoint the source of Brienne’s distress.

“Don’t worry, my Lady Ser,” Podrick reassured Brienne. “Nothing will happen to the dragons. We’ll find that horn.”

“Thank you, Podrick,” Brienne whispered as she watched him hurry after the others.

Podrick understood her urgency. The dragons had bonded with him through their bond with her. He felt the same desperate urgency to protect them as she did. Brienne sat down slowly but her heartbeat refused to calm. Jon waited until they left to turn back to Brienne and Daenerys.

“We don’t know if the horn even works,” he reminded them. “It might be just be dark magic used to lure fools to their death. Killing might be its only purpose.”

Brienne looked to Daenerys. The queen met her gaze, her expression grim. It wasn’t a chance they could take. They had to retrieve that horn, no matter what it’s intended purpose. Losing Viserion had created a threat so great, they were still trying to develop a weapon to fight against the rise of the ice dragon. What could they possibly do if the other dragons turned away from them, away from their family, could be forced to follow someone who didn’t care for them? What would the world become if the dragons were exploited?

_“Dragons can’t be made into slaves. They’re too strong and intelligent to be broken. They would only go into battle if they wanted to. If they did, nothing could stop them but another dragon.”_

Griff’s voice rang in Brienne’s head. He believed nothing could defeat a dragon other than another dragon. That might not be true. Euron had found a weapon that killed the blower and claimed it could stop dragons. Not only could this horn stop dragons, it might even be able to enslave them, destroying the will of the most powerful creatures in the world.

The Night King was trying to raise Viserion, but that was different. Viserion was already dead. The Night King could control the dragon’s body but not it’s mind. Viserion wouldn’t be capable of independent thought or action.

Dragons were not meant to be slaves. They were intelligent and capable of reason, giving their love and loyalty to those they felt deserved it. Dragons bonded with their human partners, guarding them fiercely. Her young dragons cuddled with her, knew when she was distressed and flew to her defense because of their bond. The dragons could _sense_ her. Their bond was even deeper than the normal parent-child relationship.

How would breaking that bond affect the dragons? Would it be the grief of a child turning away from its parent? Or would it be worse? Could breaking that bond break a dragon’s mind, remove the normal constraints that allowed it to distinguish friend from foe, parent from predator? Could this horrible horn break a dragon’s mind? What terrible ramifications would come from turning dragons into slaves?

Not that it mattered. It would not happen. Brienne would destroy anyone who tried to take her dragons or their free will. Blood pounded in her veins and her hand curled around the pommel of _Oathkeeper._ It was a natural reaction, the need to defend those she loved. Any creature, man or beast, would kill to protect its young. Even when those young were destined to become the most powerful creatures the world would ever know.

A mother’s love knew no limits.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay in posting the new chapter. My beta and I had coordinating issues. Please let me know if there are mistakes I need to fix.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for your patience,  
> Paly


	27. Away Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dragons were indeed agitated, puffed and squawking as they looked around for a threat. They were too young to understand the raw terror that had gripped her wasn’t caused by a foe they could vanquish.

 

Chapter 27: Away Keeper

 

Brienne placed her hands on the table, pressing down to try the control the anxiety coursing through her body. The atmosphere in the council chamber was charged with tension. The dragons hissed and flapped their wings, creating a draft in the room. Jon looked at them with concern while Daenerys rose from her seat, looking around frantically, as if expecting to see new threats magically appear around the room, her body rigid. Everyone else leaned away, as if the distance would protect them from the growing tension and the angry dragons.

“Brienne, please calm down,” Jon urged her. “You’re upsetting the dragons.”

Brienne nodded, taking a deep breath to force herself to relax. The dragons were indeed agitated, puffed and squawking as they looked around for a threat. They were too young to understand the raw terror that had gripped her wasn’t caused by a foe they could vanquish. She went to sit with them and they immediately surrounded her, trying to protect her from the unseen threat.

“I’m sorry, your Grace.” Brienne pulled Ardayn and Serdun close. “Just the thought of someone using them, hurting them, makes my blood boil.”

The two dragons, usually the most independent and aloof of the five, allowed her to hold them. They sensed Brienne’s need for comfort, to protect those who protected her. They snuggled into her and laid their heads against her shoulders, allowing her to soak in their magical heat.

Daenerys came to join them. Gallan, the first of the five she’d ever held, willing turned towards the queen, to offer her the same physical contact Brienne needed. Daenerys smiled and reached out to the blue dragon. Allwyn cleverly ducked between them so the queen’s hand landed on it instead of Gallan. Gallan squawked in protest but Allwyn preened, shifting closer to Daenerys. The queen laughed but it was strained. Like Brienne, she held both dragons close to her.

Only Catren was left without human contact. The brown dragon squawked indignantly, alone on the table, and looked around. Catren stared at the King in the North, as if he were to blame for that lack. Jon obediently rose from his seat and slowly approached.

“I’m sorry neither Podrick nor Lord Selwyn are here to hold you, Catren,” he said. “But you’re safe with us, little one. We’ll all protect you.”

Jon gently stroked down Catren’s back, between the rows of emerging spikes. Catren shifted, pressing into Jon, elongating its neck to rest it on his shoulder. The dragon growled in the back of its throat, low and steady. Brienne blinked and stared at Jon. Before now, Griff had been the only person whose touch made Catren growl like that, a sound between a purr and a rumble, indicating the dragon was relaxed and content. Was the leader of the five bonding with the King in the North as it had with the future King of Seven Kingdoms?

“The dragons take well to you,” Daenerys noted. “Drogon liked you from the start, too.”

Jon continued to stroke Catren. “If only humans were as accepting. Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I’d had a better relationship with Catren’s namesake.”

“Namesake?” Qyburn had turned in his chair to observe the dragons. “Is the brown dragon named after Lady Catelyn?”

Brienne nodded. “Yes, all the dragons are named in honor of important people in my life.” She nodded to Catren. “Catren was named after the two people I’d sworn myself to, Lady Catelyn and King Renly.”

Qyburn sighed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to do more for your Lady, but it was too late when I found their bodies.” His expression darkened. “The Freys deserved a far more brutal deaths than poison for what they did to their corpses.”

Jon froze. “Their corpses? You know where their corpses are?”

Qyburn nodded. “It took me a few days to find them. I trampled around the woods south of the Twins for days, checking the dead. You won’t believe it, your Grace, but it was a pack of wolves who finally led me to the king and queen’s bodies.”

Jon’s hand flattened on Catren’s back. “Wolves?”

“Yes,” Qyburn confirmed. “The Riverlands have more wolves then men since the War of the Five Kings. Strangely, the wolves hadn’t disturbed their bodies. In fact, it was almost as if the pack was protecting them. Then, after I’d loaded their bodies on my wagon, the pack growled at me until I also took the body of a huge grey and white wolf.”

“That was Grey Wind, Robb’s direwolf.” Jon looked down, hiding his expression.

“Direwolf,” Qyburn repeated. “That must be what the lead wolf was, too. It stayed far back from the pack, but it was enormous, even from the distance.

Jon’s head jerked up. “What? You saw a direwolf? What did it look like?”

“Lighter grey and white,” Qyburn said. “It was as large as the other direwolf, Grey Wind.”

“Nymeria?” Jon gasped. “Nymeria is still alive?”

“I don’t know its name, your Grace, but it led me to Lady Catelyn’s body,” Qyburn explained. “From the marks on the body and the marks on the ground, the direwolf pulled Lady Catelyn’s body from the river.”

Jon stared at the ex-maester for a moment, processing the information he’s just received. He blinked several times before he could finally form words.

“Another Stark lives,” Jon whispered. “First, Bran and Arya returned home when I’d thought they were dead and now we know Nymeria is alive, too. Nymeria was Arya’s direwolf.” Jon’s expression tightened. “Arya sent her away all those years ago. Nymeria defended Arya from Joffery so Cersei had demanded she be killed.”

Jaime jerked in his chair, so suddenly, his golden hand slammed into the table. Everyone turned to look at him.

“Your sister brought death and misery to thousands of people, Kingslayer, even to her own kin,” Qyburn pointed out. “She deserves her fate.”

Jaime opened his mouth but said nothing. Beside him, Tyrion sighed heavily and shook his head. There was nothing to say, no words that could defend Cersei’s actions. Qyburn had led her to her greatest atrocities but only because he knew how dark her soul truly was. He didn’t make Cersei do anything she didn’t want to do, be anyone she wasn’t already.

Jon sighed heavily and looked down at the hand he still pressed against Catren’s back. “Where are their bodies now, Lord Qyburn?”

“They’re safely hidden at Harrenhal, your Grace,” Qyburn assured him. “The castle is mostly destroyed, providing many good hiding places. The Boltons had been given the ruin but they couldn’t hold it.”

Jon nodded. “We’ll camp out at Harrenhal on the journey north. Then we can collect their bodies and take them to Winterfell with us. It’ll give my brother and sisters some comfort when we lay them to rest in the family crypts.”

“We should also burn all the bodies we find in the Riverlands, your Grace,” Davos suggested quietly. “We don’t want them to turn into soldiers in the Army of the Dead.”

Jon grimaced but nodded. The atmosphere in the room, already tense and dark, became heavier with the king’s sadness. Catren butted its head against his shoulder, now providing comfort instead of taking it. Jon resumed stroking the dragon but did so absently, his mind still with his lost kin. Brienne and Daenerys exchanged concerned glances, then looked at Missandei. The queen’s advisor nodded.

Missandei spoke and drew everyone away from their heavy thoughts. “Lady Ser Brienne, I understand your name for Catren was for those you were sworn to, Gallan for your brother and Allwyn for your parents, but I don’t understand why you named Serdun and Ardayn after knights.”

Jon lifted his head, interested in Brienne’s reply. Daenerys smiled gratefully at Missandei. Her advisor returned the smile and looked expectantly at Brienne.

“Serdun is named after Ser Duncan the Tall, who was actually an ancestor of mine. His sigil was a green shooting star above a tree on an orange background.” Brienne pressed her cheek against Serdun’s head. “It was a perfect fit. My guard is just as brave and devoted as its namesake.”

Jon glanced over at the dragon under Brienne’s other arm. “But Arthur Dayne wasn’t a family member, was he?”

“No, he wasn’t.” Brienne looked past Jon to Jamie. “He was a great warrior and he knighted Ser Jamie. I wanted the memory of a man that noble to guide Ardayn. So far, it’s working.”

“You named a dragon after Ser Arthur Dayne?” Jamie’s eyes softened. “He was the finest and deadliest knight in the Kingsguard. I couldn’t believe it when I first heard he’d been defeated by Ned Stark.”

Jon kept Catren close but reached out to stroke Ardayn. The dragon, the first of the five to accept the King in the North, graciously extended its head but remained tucked into Brienne’s side.

“My father also had great respect for Ser Arthur.” Jon stroked under Ardayn’s jaw. “He took his sword back to his family at Starfall.”

“It would have done no good to keep it,” Jamie said quietly. “Only Ser Arthur could wield it.”

“A powerful weapon that only defends the person it chooses to bond with.” Jon studied Ardayn, who stretched out its neck to allow the king to better stroke it. “You certainly named this dragon properly, Brienne.”

Suddenly Ardayn hissed and puffed, wrenching out from under Brienne’s arm and Jon’s touch. Jon jerked back, releasing Catren at the same time. Serdun also puffed and pulled away from Brienne. Allwyn and Gallan flew out from Daenerys’s arms at the same time. In seconds, the dragons were on the floor, creating a defensive line. They extended their wings and hissed in warning, but not at Jon.

Jaime had gotten up from his seat and gone around the table. He froze when the dragons lined up against him. The five had formed a defensive line to protect Brienne, Jon and Daenerys from Jaime, the only enemy they recognized in the room. The warmth in Jaime’s wildfire eyes chilled to bitter acceptance.

“I’m sorry,” Brienne gasped. She sunk down to her knees to hold Catren and Allwyn. “They sense I’m upset and worried. They don’t know where the threat is coming from so they’re being extra careful.”

Daenerys put her arms around Gallan and Serdun’s necks, but she was so tiny she didn’t have to kneel to sooth them. Jon reached down slowly to Ardayn. The king released his breath on a heavy exhale when the dragon accepted his touch. Jon stroked Ardayn’s head and carefully wrapped his arm around the silver-grey dragon.

“Ser Jaime, go back to your seat,” Jon ordered quietly, his gaze on the still-tense Ardayn. “Now is not the time to try to bond with the dragons. Brienne is too worried for them to relax their guard.”

Jaime nodded and slowly backed away, never looking away from the dragons. The five didn’t relax until Jaime was on the other side of the table. Then a thunderous roar, so loud it shook the glass in the windows, shattered the silence. Daenerys released Gallan and Serdun to rush to the windows overlooking the bay.

“Drogon and Rhaegal are sitting on the towers, firing into the sky,” she reported.

“They must have sensed your anxiety and returned early from their morning hunt, your Grace,” Missandei guessed.

“How do your dragons know you’re distressed, your Grace?” Qyburn questioned.

Daenerys stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“Lady Ser Brienne’s dragons are in the same room with her so it’s easy for them to understand her feelings,” Qyburn elaborated. “Even humans are sensitive enough to pick up on emotions at close range. But your dragons were away from us. How did they know you’re distressed? What is their range of sensitivity?”

Daenerys drew her brows together. “I don’t know.”

“Drogon came to rescue you when we were in the fighting pit in Meereen,” Missandei reminded her. “No one had seen him for days but when you needed him, he was there.”

“He also came when the young dragons were attacked on the Narrow Sea,” Brienne added. “We were in open waters, hours away from any shore, but Drogon came when the five needed help.”

“Dragonstone,” Jorah said. “Drogon and the young dragons were left at Dragonstone when we all attended the parlay. How were they when you left with Rhaegal, Khaleesi?”

“They were fine.” Daenerys returned to her seat at the table. “They were on the beach with Lord Selwyn, playing and fishing. They saw us leave but weren’t bothered.”

“Yet a few hours later they came to the Dragonpit,” Jorah pointed out. “They’d never been there before but they knew where to go, where to find you and Lady Ser Brienne.”

“Are you saying the dragons’ emotional range extends as far out as Dragonstone?” Qyburn questioned.

“No, it goes even further,” Daenerys corrected. “The young dragons flew from Valyria to return to Brienne.”

Qyburn shook his head. “That’s not possible, your Grace. I can accept Dragonstone because the dragons could fly from here to there in an hour’s time, possibly less. The trip from Valyria would have taken days, even for the large dragons, for they must rest, eat and sleep.”

“Why all these questions about the dragon’s emotional range?” Jon asked as he also returned to his seat. “Are you asking because of this horn’s possible range?”

“Partially,” Qyburn agreed. “But I was also wondering for this Night King. How does he raise his dead army? What is his range? Does he communicate with them? The dead are sentient under his command.”

Jon simply stared at the ex-maester. “What does that mean?”

Qyburn folded his hands and smiled. His expression, normally calm and guarded, brightened. He sat up straighter to deliver his lecture.

“Sentient means the creature is alive and capable of continuing its purpose,” he explained.  “For example, an ant is considered sentient if it finds food and creates a path for other ants to follow. It doesn’t think or decide which crumb to take. It just does what it was created to do. Humans are able to logic. They decide which crumbs to eat, which to dispose. They can even decide to give that food to another and go hungry themselves.”

Qyburn looked around to make sure everyone understood. They all nodded back at him. Even the dragons had relaxed. Brienne sat on the floor, the folds of her newest modified gown casting a circle of azure around her. The dragons were gathered so close, the silky material draped over their wings and tails.

“We know death stops the human body from functioning and it eventually breaks down. Skin, bone and muscles will decay,” Qyburn explained. “We also know the dead the Night King raised still retain some human aspects. We saw, at the Dragonpit, that the creature could still see, run on two legs and was verbal, screaming out a battle cry. It tried to attack when it first came out of the crate. Correct?”

Everyone nodded to show their understanding of Qyburn’s explanation.

“This tells us the creatures are not tethered to the Night King. Once raised, they will continue with their purpose, just like our ant. It has a purpose and follows it. Therefore, we should try to understand how the creature _gets_ its purpose so we can devise a strategy to disrupt it.” Qyburn looked at Jon almost reproachfully. “It would be much easier to study these creatures if you hadn’t destroyed our only example, your Grace.”

Jon straightened in surprise. “I thought it was best to show how to destroy it, not save it for study. But I assure you, Lord Qyburn, you’ll have many opportunities to study the Wight and White Walkers, in the war to come.”

“But what does this have to do with the horn?” Daenerys demanded. “How will this protect the dragons?”

“It may not help us with the dragons but it might lead to a weapon we can use against the dead,” Qyburn explained. “Queen Yara said this horn made a such a terrible noise, it felt like her body was on fire.”

“Yes,” Yara agreed. “I felt like I was burning from the inside.”

“So, hearing the horn disrupted your mental and physical functions while it was being blown?” Qyburn questioned.

“Yes, I guess.” Yara frowned. “I was so busy trying _not_ to hear the sound that I didn’t think or move.”

“There you have it.” Qyburn unlaced his fingers and spread his hands as though presenting an extraordinary find. “Our weapon.”

The former maester looked pleased with himself.  Everyone else looked around at each other then back to Qyburn with knitted brows and confused expressions. Qyburn sighed with great patience, his expression melting back into its usual stoic acceptance.

“I don’t understand,” Davos admitted.

“I do,” Tyrion spoke up. “Lord Qyburn thinks, if the horn disrupts mental and physical functions, the same theory applies for the dragons. The _Dragonbinder_ is a terrible noise that hurts to hear. It’s a punishment they want to avoid. And he thinks we can create a horn of our own to disrupt the Wights in the same way.”

Qyburn looked at Tyrion with a mixture of loathing and unwilling agreement.

“Lord Qyburn, we’re all facing the same enemy,” Jon reminded him. “We cannot war amongst ourselves when we face such a devastating threat. You swore yourself into my service. As your king, I command you to cooperate with those who join this council.”

For a moment, Qyburn stiffened but he looked to Jon and nodded. “As you wish, my King.”

Jon nodded back to him. Qyburn took a deep breath and seemed to center himself. Then he turned to back Tyrion.

“Yes, Lord Tyrion, hearing is one of the basic human functions,” Qyburn confirmed. “Humans have weak audible range while other animals, such as dogs, can hear a wider pitch range than a man. Dragons are far more sensitive and intelligent than dogs, perhaps even than men. We know their aptitude, sensory range and emotions capability is far greater than ours. It’s a reasonable supposition that their auditory ability is equally more acute.”

“What?” Davos asked. “What did you say?”

“He said dragons have better hearing and are more sensitive in general so the horn will cause them more pain then even Queen Yara experienced,” Tryion explained. “This _Dragonbinder_ can hurt their minds, bodies and hearing to the point they’ll do whatever is necessary to make it stop.”

“Why didn’t he just say that?” Davos grumbled. “Don’t mind us simple folks here.”

Qyburn sighed. Brienne stared as the ex-maester settled back in his chair, long-suffering patience dulling his eyes. He was an educated man, used to working in the rarefied atmosphere of the Citadel, with men as intelligent as he was. But he’d sworn himself to the service of a bastard king, the brother of the man who had saved his life. Now he would use his superior mental skills to aid the living. Qyburn was now another warrior in the Gods’ army of men.

“He also said we could build a weapon of our own that might be able to disrupt the Wights, cause them so much confusion, perhaps even pain, they’ll forget their programming,” Jorah added. He looked to Qyburn. “Is that right?”

“Yes,” Qyburn nodded, a faint smile gracing his lips. “Once I have that horn, I can investigate how it’s built.”

“No, you can’t,” Yara insisted. “People die when they blow that horn.”

“I’d don’t plan to blow it, Queen Yara,” Qyburn assured her. “I plan to tear it apart to learn how it makes sound.”

“You will not,” Daenerys snapped. “I won’t allow that horn to exist. We’ll destroy it the moment we have it. There are many other horns. Investigate with them, not this horror.”

Qyburn turned to Jon. “Your Grace, please. You understand new methods and treatments require study. I need to study this horn.”

Daenerys’s face flushed and her eyes flashed. Her harsh indrawn breath could be heard across the room. “I’m the Queen. You’ll obey my orders.”

Qyburn was unruffled. “I’ve pledged myself to the White Wolf; to the King in the North who carries Stark blood in his veins. He is my king. I obey only his orders.”

Jon looked at Daenerys, then to Brienne surrounded by her dragons. The dragons looked back at him, but remained snuggled around Brienne. His eyes softened and he smiled at them. Jon shook his head at Qyburn.

“No, Lord Qyburn,” he said. “Queen Daenerys is right. This horn it too dangerous. We can’t risk it hurting anyone, human or dragon. We’ll destroy it the moment we have it.”

Daenerys relaxed but still glared at Qyburn. Brienne understood the queen’s anger. Qyburn might be right about the importance of research but they simply couldn’t put the dragons at risk. She remembered what Drogon had done to the pirate armada. The dragon had acted to protect the five, destroying every last remnant of the enemy who’d dared to attack the young dragons.

What would they do if Drogon could be commanded to consider them its enemy? Would it turn on the five, the young it had brought into the world? What about Daenerys? She was its mother, the sole reason it even existed. Could Drogon hurt its own mother? Brienne pulled Allwyn into her lap, and looked at the remaining dragons. The idea of anyone causing them pain terrified her.

Tyrion shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. How can the blower become a dragon master if the horn kills him within hours? What is the value of mastering dragons for such a short time?”

“Death and destruction,” Jaime answered quietly. “Aerys wanted to destroy King’s Landing when he knew he couldn’t hold it. If he’d had _Dragonbinder,_ and dragons existed during his time, he’d have blown it and kept blowing until the dragons burned the whole world. He wanted to die in the flames. And there are others like him.”

Jaime’s eyes darkened with the memory. Brienne’s closed her eyes against the blunt reminder. There were people in the world who only wanted their own way, who would use a weapon such as _Dragonbinder_ to annihilate the world. People existed who would rather die in their victory than allow another’s success. 

Drogon alone could destroy King’s Landing in an hour’s time. The combined strength of Drogon and Rhaegal, even without the young dragons with their limited fire range and strength, would devastate Westeros during those few hours of a madman’s reign. Brienne opened her eyes as a shudder passed through her. The young dragons pressed into her body, Allwyn digging into her lap, almost as if giving her their strength to stay upright.

Daenerys drew in her breath, color draining from her face. She looked at the five then out the windows to where Drogon and Rheagal sat, staying close to their anxious mother. Missandei caught Daenerys’s hand between both of her own.

“It won’t happened, my Queen,” Missandei assured her. “We’ll destroy this weapon. No one will take your dragons from you.”

“Aye,” Jorah agreed. “In fact, we’ll have Drogon burn this horn, turn it to ashes so it cannot hurt anyone again.”

Daenerys released her breath and nodded. A knock on the door interrupted her before she could speak. They all looked to the door as Qhono opened it. A young servant stood in the doorway, holding a tray with scrolls bouncing on the surface. He shook visibly, eyes twitching wildly as he looked around. His fear only grew more violent when he saw the dragons surrounding Brienne. Tyrion went to the doorway to take the tray. The boy bowed and almost threw himself out the door.

“More messages, your Graces.” Tyrion brought the tray to their table. “I’m finally getting replies to the ravens I’ve been sending out.”

“Why are there so many?” Jon asked.

“I sent scrolls to all the remaining Lords in the southlands to inform them of their new queen,” Tyrion explained. “I expect these are their replies with, hopefully, pledges of fealty.”

“Does that mean they’ll send troops to the capital?” Jon asked.

“Men or food,” Tyrion answered. “We need both.”

Tyrion sorted through them rapidly then stopped at one. His expression became grave and he passed the scroll down to Davos.

“It’s for King Jon.” Tyrion’s voice clogged and he cleared his throat. “It’s Lady Sansa’s handwriting.”

Davos passed it to Jon, who quickly broke the seal and scanned the contents. His expression grew grim. Everyone looked around and steadied themselves, preparing to hear bad news.

“The dead are marching towards Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, to where Viserion went down,” Jon explained. “The ice still holds but Sansa reports more and more dead have begun to rise south of the Wall. She’s asked me to return to the North and bring as many men as possible.”

“It’s good that the ice is holding,” Jorah pointed out. “The Night King brings the winter storms. It’s his own presence that keeps the ice in place. He’s restrained by the Wall unless it can raise Viserion.”

“How intelligent is this Night King?” Qyburn asked. “Will he eventually reason that he needs to leave the dragon in order to raise the dragon?”

“We don’t know,” Jon answered. “He was smart enough to bring Viserion down. Eventually, he’ll retreat further north to allow the ice to break. But until he does, he continues to be a threat as he raises the dead south of the Wall. We need to place men in the Night’s Watch castles and train them to fight Wights.”

“How quickly do you want to leave, your Grace?’ Davos asked.

Jon looked up from the scroll. “At daylight tomorrow.”

“Daylight tomorrow,” Daenerys gasped. “So soon?”

Daenerys’s anxiety was more than that of a person facing the loss of a friend. Their nightly conversations had made it clear, to Brienne at least, that Daenerys’s feelings for the King in the North were warmer than friendship. The queen was already planning to rule Westeros with Jon at her side and Brienne at her back.

Neither Daenerys nor Jon were aware the true King of the Seven Kingdoms would arrive in mere days. Brienne was anticipating and dreading his arrival. Griff would relieve her of the burden of hiding her true loyalties. But that reveal would destroy her relationships with Daenerys, Jon and their entourages. She’d never lied to any of them but the betrayal of omission would hurt them deeply.

“That’s not enough time to organize our men,” Jorah protested. “Most of the Dothraki are still at Dragonstone.”

“Where are the rest of your men?” Davos asked. “Aren’t the Unsullied returning to the capital?”

“A contingent will remain at Casterly Rock, to guard Lannisport,” Jorah reported. “The majority are preparing to march back to King’s Landing.”

“Can they be diverted to march to Harrenhal instead?” Jon asked.

Jorah looked at Daenerys then nodded. “It will take them as least a week to arrive.

“Good,” Jon nodded. “Ser Davos and I will take provisions with us, as well.  We’ll arrive in five days and be there to meet them. Lord Tyrion, send out ravens to all the remaining Lords in the Riverlands. We’ll welcome any fighters who swear fealty to the army of men.”

“Fealty to whom?” Danenerys asked, a sharp edge to her voice. “House Targaryen or House Stark?”

Jon stared at her, meeting her gaze directly. “Does it matter?”

For a moment, the monarchs held each other’s gaze. Everyone else shifted, looking from one ruler to the other. Even thought she was anxious over separating from Jon, Daenerys never lost sight of her belief in her right to rule Westeros. The dragons raised their heads, interested but not alarmed. Finally, Daenerys nodded.

“You’re right,” the queen accepted. “Until we defeat the Night King, we are all united in the army of men.”

“What about the _Iron Fleet_?” Yara asked. “You said the Unsullied captured my uncle’s ships at Lannisport.”

“Aye, we have the ships,” Jorah agreed. “But the Ironborn captains refuse to sail them without their queen to command them.”

Yara nodded. “I’ll send ravens to order those loyal to me to sail to the capital. But it will take them at least a week also, perhaps longer if the winds are against them.”

“Your ships need to go to Braavos to ferry the _Golden Company_ ,” Davos reminded her.

“We have enough ships in King’s Landing to make the first trip, bring at least a third of their men and supplies,” Yara estimated. “But it will take us a month to deliver them to White Harbor.”

“Supplies will be crucial,” Davos said. “War has drained the North of resources. With so many men and a harsh winter approaching, we need salted or pickled meats and fish, dry grains and hardy vegetables to avoid starvation. That must also come from Braavos.”

“Yes, we do, Ser Davos,” Jon agreed. “But how will we pay for provisions?”

“We have the Casterly gold, your Grace,” Qyburn reminded him. “The Unsullied will bring it with them. The Ironborn ships can dock at Maidenpool or perhaps as far inland as Quiet Isle. We can transport the gold from Harrenhal to an Ironborn ship.”

“I’ll personally escort the gold to Braavos, your Graces,” Yara promised. “Once we have the _Iron Fleet_ at full strength, we can deliver the _Golden Company_ and provisions to White Harbor within six weeks.”

“Good,” Jon nodded. “The march to Winterfell will take us at least a full month. What about the remaining Lannister troops?”

“We don’t have many,” Jaime admitted. “Many have gone back to their own houses and keeps. They’ve lost faith in House Lannister.”

“But we have some.” Tyrion held up several scrolls. “I have fealty to House Targaryen from three houses and expect more will bend the knee in the coming days.”

“I don’t have time to wait for them,” Jon said. He looked to Daenerys. “When can the rest of your army march?”

Daenerys hesitated then looked to Jorah. He frowned as he thought then looked at Yara. Jorah’s expression cleared.

“If we use the _Iron Fleet_ ships we already have to bring the Dothraki to the capital, that will cut down the travel time from Dragonstone considerably,” Jorah suggested. “We might be ready the day following.”

Yara nodded. “Yes, I inspected the ships and men myself. We can begin this afternoon. I believe you’re right, Ser Jorah. We can have the Dothraki here by sunset tomorrow.”

“Can you delay one more day, King Jon?” Daenerys asked. “Then we can all travel together. The people will see we are united in their protection.”

“We?” Jon repeated. “You’re going north with us?”

Daenerys straightened in her chair. “Of course, I am. I’m not a queen who hides behind castle walls while other fight in my name. I’ll lead my dragons and my men into battle.”

Brienne stared at the queen, stunned by the rapidly changing events. Daenerys and Jon were both leaving the capital only days before Griff and the _Sea Keeper_ were scheduled to arrive. Brienne had lost sleep due to her dread of the upcoming clash of the dragons. But now it seemed Griff would have no barriers to his accession to kingship. Daenerys had claimed the capital but she and her dragons were leaving. She’d have no hold on King’s Landing from Winterfell. How had events set themselves up so perfectly for the future king?

“What about Dorne?” Brienne asked anxiously. “We still need the parlay with them to stop their march.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Jon assured her. “You’ll attend the parlay, Brienne. You’ll have Dothraki, Unsullied, Ironborn and Lord Tyrion at your side.”

Brienne nodded slowly. She would also have Griff. He knew how to persuade people, lead men, settle conflicts and find compromises. He was even a son of Dorne, the only living memory of their deeply beloved Princess Elia. His presence, along with his command of the young dragons, might be all it took to stop the Dornish march against King’s Landing.

“If I may, your Grace,” Qyburn interrupted. “Perhaps it’s not a wise idea to send Lord Tyrion to Dorne. They have no love for Lannisters.”

Tyrion sat up straighter in his seat and exchanged looks with Jamie. Both brothers grimaced.

“I can bow out of the parlay, my Queen,” Tyrion offered. “Perhaps Lords Qyburn and Varys would present a better message. They both have contacts in Dorne.”

“If the Dornish are aware of what occurs in Essos, as Ser Jorah suggests, then they know you’re the Hand to the Queen,” Daenerys pointed out. “Sending anyone else to speak for me would be false. Also, who else can guide King’s Landing while Ser Jorah, Missandei and I journey north?”

Tyrion’s expression was a cross between astonishment and gratitude. Daenerys planned to leave the city she’d just claimed to a Lannister, the unwanted brother of the queen she’d just deposed. Brienne looked down to hide the sudden flush in her cheeks. Tyrion Lannister was no obstacle for Griff. He’d brush away the youngest lion’s objections without concern. Tyrion would inform Daenerys of Griff’s arrival and Brienne’s loyalty but what would the Dragon Queen do? Would she return to King’s Landing to confront her nephew or continue north at Jon’s side?

Brienne looked around the table to gauge everyone’s reactions to Daenerys’s announcement. They shifted in their seats, also looking around the table, except Jorah and Missandei. Their faith in their queen’s decisions was as strong as always. Varys and Qyburn both had calm, unreadable expressions, revealing nothing. Jamie looked at his brother with a mixture of relief and worry. Yara had a faint frown but remained silent. Davos sighed heavily but Jon’s expression remained firm.

“We have no choice,” Jon insisted. “I’ll agree to remain one more day but that’s all. I have to return to the North. My people need me.”

“The Valyrian steel weapons can’t be ready that quickly,” Davos cautioned. “Even with extra smiths, Gendry needs more time. Plus, he wants to go north with us.”

“We’ll take what he can prepare for us,” Jon decided. “The rest will come with Ser Jaime when he journeys north with the southlands forces.”

Jaime’s eyes widened. “You want me, a Lannister, to lead the southland armies?” His voice was higher than usual, betraying his shock and surprise.

“Yes.” Jon’s expression was calm. “Brienne says you’re a man of honor and you’ve committed yourself to the army of men. You’re an experienced leader. Most of the men know you and have served under you, even if their Lords don’t trust your sister. You’ll lead them, any late-comers you gather on the Kingsroad and the men of the _Golden Company_ sailing to King’s Landing.”

Jaime opened and closed his mouth twice, apparently unable to put his emotions into words. Jon had given back command of the Lannister forces to Jamie and trusted him to be true to his word. Jaime was clearly grateful for Jon’s faith in him. Brienne stiffened as another ugly confrontation loomed before her. Griff would come with the men aboard the _Sea Keeper_. How would he react to be led by Jaime Lannister, the man who’d killed his grandfather and whom Griff hated for the murders of his mother and sister?

“When is the _Golden Company_ ship scheduled to arrive?” Davos asked.

“We anticipate five days from now,” Tyrion answered. “I received a raven from Harry Strickland this morning. Poor weather has slowed them down but they expect the storms to break tomorrow or the day after. Then it will take them four days to sail to the capital.”

“Have we heard from Sunspear?” Varys asked. “It doesn’t matter how many men you gather, if no one will parlay with us.”

“That will be your sole focus, Lord Varys,” Jon commanded. “Work with Lord Qyburn and your little birds. Find someone, anyone, who will meet with us. I’m confident Brienne’s dragons will resolve the issue quickly, once they’re invited into the city.”

“Yes, your Grace,” Varys nodded. 

Jon nodded back then looked at Qyburn. Qyburn bowed his head respectfully.

“Yes, my King, it will be done,” the ex-maester vowed.

“But what about the leaving ceremony?” Missandei asked. “We don’t have enough time to prepare in only two days.”

“You don’t need to prepare. People come out to see the dragons regardless,” Brienne pointed out. “Just the fact that the dragons will follow you ensures the people will watch.”

Daenerys frowned but her reply was lost when the door opened. Theon, Sandor, Bronn and Podrick came into the room. They were disheveled with their faces streaked with dirt, hair mused and clothes torn in places. Sandor, Theon and Bronn all carried various parts of a black suit of armor with a distinctive scale design, similar to the dragons’ scales. Podrick carried a long, flat wooden box.

Brienne jumped up from the floor. The dragons also rose with her. Everyone turned to observe the newcomers.

“Is that it?” Daenerys demanded. “Is that the horn?”

Sandor and Theon exchanged looks then stared at the wooden box Podrick held. Podrick looked down then over at Bronn. Bronn ran his fingers through his already mussed hair, his expression grim and troubled.

“It’s the case for the horn,” Bronn explained. “We found it where Queen Yara said it would be but the case is empty.”

“What?” Daenerys and Brienne both cried, their voices shrill with distress.

Theon nodded. “We tore the _Silence_ apart. Nothing that looks like a horn is on that ship. The _Dragonbinder_ has been stolen.”

 _Stolen_. Brienne looked at Daenerys who looked back at her with equal fear and despair in her eyes. A weapon terrible enough to control the most powerful creatures in the world was missing. But who and why? Was the thief innocent of the power and purpose of the weapon he’d taken? Had it been a chance theft of an object that could be traded for gold? Or did someone know what the horn was capable of doing and want to use it?

Regardless of the reason, _Dragonbinder_ was gone. Someone held the power to turn the dragons, Daenerys’s greatest strength and Brienne’s divine duty, into weapons against their own family and against Westeros itself. Brienne had worried she wasn’t strong enough, honorable enough to bear the responsibility of having dragons. She’d loved them and cared for them to the best of abilities, always knowing they were the Gods’ gifts. She was their keeper and would do anything to keep them safe. Now an object beyond her control threatened them and even threatened Drogon and Rheagal, too.

Someone was willing to die, and kill, for the power of the dragons.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m without a beta this week again. Please let me know of errors in the chapter.
> 
> I’ll be on vacation for the next two weeks. I don’t know if I’ll have much chance to write while I’m away. I’ll try to be online to respond to questions and feedback but the next chapter won’t post until September 7th. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and all your wonderful feedback. I really appreciate knowing people are reading and enjoying my hard work.


	28. Guard Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was time. After two days of frantic activity, the King in the North and the Queen of Westeros were leaving King’s Landing. They were off to fight a terrible threat most people in the southlands didn’t even comprehend

### Chapter 28: Guard Keeper

Brienne watched the sun rise over Blackwater Bay from her position near the Gate of the Gods, just outside King’s Landing’s fortress walls. It was time. After two days of frantic activity, the King in the North and the Queen of Westeros were leaving King’s Landing. They were off to fight a terrible threat most people in the southlands didn’t even comprehend. The talk of wights and a zombie king who brought the winter storms was only a fanciful story in the balmy warmth of the southlands.

The citizens may not have believed talk about the Night King and his Army of the Dead but they did understand approaching armies, dragons and Dothraki bloodriders. The _Iron Fleet_ had begun transporting the Dothraki to the capital immediately after the council meeting two days prior. They’d set up a makeshift camp on the tourney grounds to house the Dragon Queen’s khalasar. The citizens of King’s Landing had watched with awe and fear as the big, brawny fighters, wielding curved arakhs and recurved bows, entered the city. 

The Lannister army had also started to return. Tyrion and Varys had put out the word that Jaime was still their honorable commander. The few surviving members of the group attacked by Drogon had been allowed to return to the capital and vouch for their commander’s bravery on the battlefield. Jaime also participated in troop inspections with Jon, Jorah and Qhono, reassuring the anxious southland lords and officers the Lannister army would march alongside the Starks and Targaryens to battle their common enemy. 

“Did you ever think we’d see the day when the Lannister, Stark and Targaryen banners would join together?” Varys asked, sliding quietly into place beside her.

Brienne scowled. “I wish there wasn’t a day when all the great banners of Westeros were forced to join together. No matter how many men we gather, is it enough to fight what we face?”

“I don’t know.” Varys joined her in studying the troops. “But if it’s not…”

He didn’t finish his sentence but he didn’t need to. Brienne understood the enormity of the threat they faced. The Army of the Dead was so great a threat, even the Gods had added their influence. They’d given the armies of men powerful weapons: rational leaders, brave fighters, dragonglass, Valyrian steel and fire-breathing dragons. But even that might not be enough, not with what they faced: a Night King who could kill and possibly raise dragons, a renewable army that didn’t tire or sleep and a horn that could turn their dragons against them. 

Despite the threat of the missing _Dragonbinder_ , Daenerys and Brienne had decided to keep the dragons in the capital. They didn’t know the range of the horn, if it really affected the dragons or even who had it. Brienne had barely slept at night, keeping watch over the young dragons nesting in the Queen’s sitting room and the large dragons blotting out the moon and stars as they kept close to their own equally anxious mother. 

Missandei came to stand beside her. “This is farewell for now, Brienne.”

Brienne nodded and swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. She’d only known Daenerys’s advisor, and Daenerys herself, for a few days. But in that short time, she’d been welcomed into their company and been treated with an affection and comradery she’d never known before. That would end now. Not only because the two women were leaving but because they would soon learn the truth of her loyalties and her allegiance to the true King of the Seven Kingdoms.

Brienne looked away and smoothed down the sides of her modified gown, a grey dress with black sleeves and red trim, over black breeches and shiny black flat boots. _Stark and Targaryen colors_. Missandei was dressed almost the same, except her sleeves were red and the trim black. A silver circle, depicting the three-headed dragon, the Targaryen symbol, was pinned at her shoulder. 

Missandei took her hands. “We’ll be together again soon, Lady Ser Brienne.”

Brienne squeezed her hands and nodded again, still unable to speak. Missandei smiled at her but it wobbled and her lovely face was pinched and tight. The young dragons were gathered around Brienne, as usual, but were not unduly concerned by the Dothraki hoard. Instead, the crowded closer, picking up on her distress, perhaps even realizing Missandei would leave them soon. 

Daenerys came to join them and Brienne’s throat tightened even more. The Queen coordinated with Brienne and Missandei in a black modified gown with grey sleeves and red trim worn over black breeches and boots. Her thick silver blonde hair was arranged in a coronet of braids. A heavy silver chain with a clasp of the Targaryen symbol held her cloak in place. _Dragon’s Eye’s_ ornate pommel gleamed from her black and silver sword belt.

“Yes, we will,” Daenerys agreed, covering their joined hands with hers, smiling with equal parts of distress and determination. “We’ll be victorious in our battle against the Army of the Dead. Once I return, we’ll put these terrible days behind us and lead Westeros to a great and glorious future.”

Brienne finally controlled her voice enough to say, “I wish you great success in battle, your Grace.”

The three women allowed their hands to separate. The ache in Brienne’s throat increased. It was almost foreshadowing. The connection they’d built would be severed just as easily. Westeros’s future might be great and glorious but it wouldn’t be led by Daenerys. 

Guilty color flushed her cheeks as Brienne looked past Daenerys to Drogon and Rhaegal sitting on the battlements. The dragons flapped their wings and roared to the sky, eager to begin their journey. The breeze from their wings ruffled the black and red Targaryen banners that had replaced the Lannister flags. King’s Landing was in a state of transition, conquered by the Dragon Queen in a nearly bloodless coup but managed by a Lannister in her absence.

Soon, that Lannister would be pushed out by another Targaryen, one who wouldn’t need to conquer the capital to claim it. Aegon the Sixth Targaryen would brush Tyrion Lannister aside as nothing more than an irritating insect. Griff was a seasoned battle commander. He’d come to King’s Landing with a plan to enforce his rule and a strategy for mitigating the Dornish threat. He wouldn’t do what his enemies expected him to do, nor would he take orders from anyone, especially not a Lannister. By the time Daenerys returned, Griff would have command of the capital, with the _Golden Company_ spreading out to take control of Crownlands, the Stormlands and the Reach.

“Are we ready?” Jon broke into her thoughts, his voice deeper than usual, stress apparent in his stiff posture. 

The King in the North wore a dark cloak over his equally dark clothes, the Stark’s wolf insignia pressed into the leather straps. Davos had the same mark pressed into his leathers as well. Beside them, Qyburn, the deadly stealth eagle, had covered his maester’s robe with a cloak bearing the wolf’s head sigil, indicating his loyalty to House Stark. Yara and Theon also wore dark leathers, the kraken symbol burned into their jackets, while Jorah and Qhono’s capes had the three-headed dragon. Varys wore his customary robes and somber expression, staying in the shadow of the gate. 

“We are, your Grace,” Davos confirmed.

Gendry, Jaime and Tyrion came to join the group. The smith carried a large, heavy war hammer. Even his roughly stitched jacket had the wolf insignia pressed into the shoulder. Jaime and Gendry kept their distance, wary of the dragons, but Tyrion marched up to Jon’s side.

“How many Valyrian steel weapons were you able to repair?” Jorah asked Gendry. Daenerys’s first knight now had _Dragon’s Blade_ , a powerful Valyrian steel sword, with a familiar silver and white pommel and silver, blue-eyed dragon’s head, hanging from his sword belt.

“More than a third,” Gendry responded. “The rest will be ready in the next week.”

“Good,” Jon agreed. “Ser Jaime will distribute some to his generals then bring the rest north with his army.”

“We may catch up with you on the Gold Road,” Jaime suggested. “We’ll be lighter without the burden of the barrels of wildfire.”

“Dorne is your first priority,’ Jon reminded him. “You may have to engage them if Lord Tyrion and the young dragons cannot stop the Dornish march.”

“We’ll stop them,” Tyrion assured. “Now that Manfrey Martell has agreed to meet with us in Sunspear. The Dornish might have been able to fight a fractured Lannister army but they can’t beat our combined armies, even without the dragons. The Dornish might be angry but they’re not stupid.”

“Still, be prepared for anything,” Jorah advised. “Even the invitation to Sunspear might be a trap.”

“We will,” Jaime assured him.

“We have another concern, your Grace.” Tyrion held up a pair of scrolls. “These just arrived from Lady Sansa. She wrote a letter to each of us. Robin Arryn has demanded the Knights of the Vale return to the Eyrie. She writes that Lord Royce has failed in his attempts to keep the knights at Winterfell.”

Jon snatched up the scroll Tyrion extended to him and broke the seal. They watched the king’s eyes scan the scroll as he read through his sister’s message. Around them, the sounds of the march preparation faded as the men fell into formation. Daenerys used the quiet moment to stroke the dragons while Missandei smiled at them with gentle affection. 

“This is that serpent Littlefinger’s doing,” Brienne insisted. “I accompanied Lady Sansa to meet with Baelish before the battle against the Boltons. He’s ---”

“Dead,” Jon interrupted flatly.

Brienne drew in her breath sharply. “Littlefinger? He’d dead?”

Jon looked up from the letter. “Sansa had him executed for treason against House Stark, the murder of Lysa Arryn and conspiracy in the murder of Jon Arryn.” 

“Jon Arryn,” Tyrion repeated. “Your father accused the Lannisters of killing him.”

Jon looked back at Sansa’s letter. “It was Littlefinger. He conspired with Aunt Lysa to kill her husband. Then he conspired with Cersei and Joffrey to hide that Joffrey wasn’t the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.”

Jaime’s face flushed with color and he took a step back. He remained silent but his gaze shifted to the ground. Brienne’s heart ached for the regret and sadness in his expression. No one else noticed, too focused on the new information. 

“I’m the rightful heir to the Iron Throne,” Daenerys interjected. “This Littlefinger’s treacheries shed unnecessary blood.”

“It did more than shed blood, your Grace,” Tyrion corrected. “It started the War of the Five Kings, turned the Lannisters against the Starks and nearly turned all of the Riverlands into a graveyard.”

“There’s more than enough blame to go around,” Davos said quietly. “But we gain nothing from laying it.”

“He’s right,” Jon agreed. “It doesn’t matter whose corpse sits on any throne if we don’t defeat the Night King and his Army of the Dead.”

“Losing the Knights of the Vale is a harsh blow. We needed them at Winterfell if the Night King raises Viserion before we arrive to reinforce the northern armies.” Davos pointed out.

“Has Lady Sansa attempted to reason with Lord Robin?” Tyrion asked. “I’ve met him. He’s just a child. He doesn’t understand what he’s doing.”

“Lord Royce is his regent,” Jon explained, exchanging his letter with Tyrion’s. “Sansa and he both tried to reason with Robin but ‘his lordship’ demands his knights return to the Vale.” 

“So, what does that mean?” Jaime demanded, watching his little brother scan the message. 

Jon looked up from reading the scroll Sansa had written to Tyrion. “It means we need to get our armies to the North as soon as possible.”

“Right.” Yara agreed. “We’ll send a group to Harrenhal once we dock our ships at Maidenpool. The remainder of the _Iron Fleet_ should join us by the time we’re ready to sail to Braavos. We’ll bring back the _Golden Company_ and supplies.”

Everyone was quiet for a moment, even the dragons, as they absorbed the enormity of the task before them. They were preparing for war while so many around them were ignorant of the terrible threat facing Westeros. Not only did they have to battle the Night King’s Army of the Dead, they also faced threats, through war or desertion, from the two most powerful living armies in the Seven Kingdoms. Dorne was marching to exact revenge against House Lannister while the Vale was under the rule of a willful, selfish child.

“I wish you a safe journey and great success, your Graces,” Tyrion spoke, his voice as heavy as the silence it broke. 

“Thank you, Lord Tyrion,” Jon replied. “I wish you equal safety and success on your mission to Dorne.”

Jon looked to Daenerys who nodded to the Queensguard. The Queensguard had dressed in their previous armor, shiny gold plates with white enameling and the emblem of the Kingsguard, their long white cloaks streaming down their backs. Brienne studied the five remaining guards. She knew about their terrible deeds, what they’d allowed and even done to Sansa under Joffery’s orders. Grown men abusing children without mercy or shame. Their soft bodies and stained cloaks were an insult to the brave, noble men who had come before them. Still, they were a symbol of the Queen’s authority, even though it was the bloodriders who protected Daenerys. 

Jon, Daenerys, Missandei, Jorah, Davos, Gendry and Qyburn mounted their horses. Jon and Daenerys galloped to the head of the procession while the others joined the bloodriders. Once the group turned to the King’s Road, Drogon and Rhaegal took to the skies above them. 

Bronn, Sandor and Podrick were missing from the ensemble. After bringing the Valyrian steel armor, they’d immediately decided to search for _Dragonbinder_. They began combing through the stalls of Fishmonger’s Square, the brothels on the Street of Silk and the taverns of Flea Bottom, trying to pick up whispers of the horn’s location or who had stolen it. Brienne hadn’t been surprised by Podrick’s eagerness to question the fishmongers. It made sense the thief might be known on the dock or the ships. She’d rolled her eyes when Bronn had insisted on talking to the whores who might have heard words about a weapon capable of hurting his foster-dragons. Despite his flippancy, Bronn’s eyes had been hard, serious and focused. He’d seen, first-hand, the devastation a dragon could cause. He knew they had to find the horn.

What surprised Brienne had been Sandor’s willingness to help with the search. The big man had muttered, ‘More shit for me to clean up,’ but had gone willingly with the others. But, as Jon had reminded her, Sandor had joined them in the battle north of the Wall and had seen how easily the big dragons could destroy thousands. Sandor also knew about the dark, dangerous places in Flea Bottom where men were willing to buy and sell anything. He even knew the agonizing pain of being burned by fire. He understood how important it was to protect the dragons.

Brienne, Jaime, Tyrion, Theon and Yara watched silently as the Dothraki, most mounted on horseback, some guarding the covered wagons, followed after their Khaleesi. The thunder of their horse’s hooves caused the soft ground to tremble under their feet.

“Theon, we have to finish preparations,” Yara reminded. “I want our ships ready to sail by sunset. We leave at first light tomorrow.”

“What about the ships coming from Lannisport?” Tyrion asked. “When will they arrive?” 

“They plan to leave today,” Yara said. “They’ll meet us near Maidenpool within a fortnight.”

The Grejoys turned away to head for the docks. Brienne watched them with concern. She knew about Theon’s defection and how it had led to Winterfell falling to the Boltons. But Theon had also saved Sansa from Ramsey Bolton and protected her until Brienne and Podrick were able to reach her. Rickon Stark and hundreds of Northmen had died recovering the Stark’s ancestral home. House Stark was once again the Great House of the North, but at a terrible cost. 

“How much of the Lannister army has returned?” Tyrion asked Jaime, drawing Brienne’s attention back to the present and the massive khalasar marching north.

“We have nearly a thousand soldiers from the Crownlands,” Jaime reported. “Troops from the Westerlands will take at least ten days to make it back to the capital. The Stormlands men will arrive in half that time.”

“So, you’ll have the army reassembled by the time we return from Dorne,” Tyrion surmised. “We’ll know then if we march north or south.”

Jaime nodded soberly. “We’ll be ready for either.”

North meant the Lannister troops would join the battle against the Army of the Dead. South meant the southlands army would travel to Highgarden to repel a Dornish attack. Dorne would not believe nor join them in battle against the Army of the Dead. The best they could hope for was a delay in hostilities and pullback of their armies. 

Brienne prayed Griff had a strategy for facing the threats that would come at him. She knew he’d bring more than a single ship to King’s Landing. Even so, he was facing attack from three sides: the Dornish from the south, the Lannisters in the capital and Daenerys from the north. Griff was too smart to think he could just take the kingdom without resistance.

Jaime headed to the tourney grounds to meet with his officers. He wore his Lannister uniform since he was no longer a member of the Kingsguard. Tyrion and Varys excused themselves to return to the Red Keep. Only Brienne, the young dragons and the Queensguard were left to listen to the steadily fading rumble of the departing troops. The dragons watched the men with cold-eyed concentration but remained calm. They didn’t see the guards as a threat to Brienne. The Queensguard, in contrast, shifted uneasily and kept their distance from the dragons. They had seen how dangerous the dragons could be to anyone they thought intended harm to their mother. 

Brienne looked back into the city and hesitated. It was foolish to resist entering the capital. Keeping the dragons outside of the fortress walls wouldn’t be enough to protect the five from the threat of _Dragonbinder_. Nor were the walls tall enough or strong enough to keep the dragons out, if they were taken by this horrible horn. The only mercy was the young dragons, with their limited fire range and power, could not create the devastating destruction Drogon and Rhaegal could. 

She sighed and went inside the Gate of the Gods, the Queensguard following at a safe distance behind her. Smallfolk, congregating just inside the gates, moved away as the dragons rose over Brienne’s head. More people than Brienne had anticipated were still gathered, all eager but also anxious at seeing the young dragons in their arrow formation, flying high above them. Some fell to their knees while others remained standing, watching with open-mouthed awe or fearful gazes, while many shied away, bodies tensed and ready to run at the slightest hint of dragonfire.

A young girl, no more than nine or ten, suddenly ran into Brienne’s path. “Are you the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms?”

Brienne stopped and looked down at the child. She was dirty, dressed in rags with snarled dark hair. The little girl’s filthy appearance didn’t bother Brienne. She’d seen too many children like her in the Riverlands. What did alarm her were the bruises and scratches on the child.

The dragons came down, squawking threateningly. They circled Brienne, facing outwards, bodies puffed and wings outstretched, causing the crowd to push further away, but not the little girl. She froze in place and looked at the five with huge, terrified eyes. 

“They won’t hurt you,” Brienne assured quickly. She knelt down and wrapped her arms around Catren and Allwyn. “They won’t hurt anyone unless that person tries to hurt them or me.”

The child blinked but the fear didn’t leave her eyes. Still, she took a deep breath and spoke. “I hear the Septas talking at night. They said the Dragon Queen called you the greatest knight in Westeros. Is that true?”

“I am a knight of the Seven Kingdoms,” Brienne admitted. “But I believe there are many greater than me.”

The little girl’s face fell. “So, you can’t help us?”

Brienne took a good look at the girl’s injuries. As well as the cuts and bruises on her face, there was a long gash on her arm and she held herself off-center, as if favoring one leg over the other. 

“What’s your name?” Brienne asked gently.

“Cara,” the child replied.

“Who hurt you, Cara?” Brienne asked quietly.

“A boar,” Cara said.

Brienne frowned. “A boar? Do you mean like an animal, a wild boar?”

Cara nodded vigorously. “We were hunting rabbits in the woods. The boar came and we all ran. I ran and ran. I ran from the boar and I ran from the screams. We didn’t get no rabbits and some of the brothers ain’t come back yet.” 

“Cara!” A woman, dressed in the drab gown and veil of the septas, called from the crowd. 

Brienne and Cara turned to look at her. The woman’s face drained of color until she was almost white with fear. She looked down at the dragons then at the Queensguard standing out of the dragons’ range, behind Brienne.

“I beg your pardon, my Lady, Sers,” the septa cried. “Please, the child meant no harm.”

Again, the septa looked past Brienne to the Queensguard. It was almost as if the woman feared the guards more than the dragons. Brienne turned her head to follow her gaze. The Queensguard had their hands threateningly on their swords, bodies tense, as if ready to cut through the crowd of thin, unarmed, underfed smallfolk. 

“Cara did me no harm,” Brienne assured the septa. “She merely asked for my assistance.” She looked at Cara again. “Isn’t that right?”

Cara nodded solemnly. “Can you bring the brothers back?”

A boar attack was a dangerous thing. The wild pigs had tusks that could tear a man in two. Their thick hide and natural speed made it hard to spear them. Many men had been mauled by them, including King Robert. But could a boar hurt a knight guarded by dragons?

“I don’t know, Cara,” Brienne answered honestly. “But I might be able to kill this boar. Where did you see it?”

 

***

 

Dusk had begun to settle by the time Brienne and the dragons came back into King’s Landing. The five squawked overhead, delighted with the day’s activities and their own performance. She led a line of horses weighed down with carcasses; wild boars, wolves, stags and some pheasants. Her intention had been to track down the boar but she hadn’t anticipated the dragons’ prowess at hunting. The five worked together in a manner that reminded Brienne of the disciplined, skilled actions of the _Golden Company_. Which only made sense, since Griff probably taught them to hunt to feed themselves and the company while they were in Valyria.

She came into the city by the Dragon’s Gate, closest to Flea Bottom, the poorest area in the capital. The Gold Cloaks, as well as the people, quickly made room for her to pass. She stopped once all the horses were inside the gates. The Queensguard appeared out of the crowd as if waiting for her, shoving aside the small folk watching from a safe distance.

“Well done, my Lady Ser,” Boros, the fattest and softest of the guards, praised her.

The dragons settled around her as Brienne removed her helm and brushed back her sweaty hair. She hadn’t bothered to cut it since coming to the capital. The dragons liked it, often rubbing their heads against the blonde strands until her hair puffed up like a halo around her head. But it was a nuisance for actual fighting. Not that she’d fought anything since reuniting with the dragons. They wouldn’t let any threat near her, not even a wild animal.

“Where is the child, Cara?’ Brienne demanded.

“Back where she belongs,” Osmund, another Queensguard, taller and fitter than Boros, muttered.

“We’ll take the meat to the Red Keep, my Lady Ser,” Boros offered.

Brienne looked at the thin, undernourished men and women mingling around the small market then looked back at the smug, well-fed Queensguard. 

“This meat will not go to the Red Keep,” Brienne denied. “It’s for Cara and all the other children who are orphaned.”

“But fresh meat always goes to the Red Keep,” Boros explained. “The quality must be well fed to make wise decisions for the people of King’s Landing.”

Brienne looked at the armor that didn’t quite cover Boros’s thick midsection. The rest of the Queensguard was in better shape than him but none of them looked as if they’d ever missed a meal or been forced to subsist of ‘bowls of brown’ as the poor folks endured.

“The quality are already well-fed, Ser Boros,” Brienne corrected. “Missing a meal or two will not change their ‘wise’ decisions for the people. This meat is for the orphans.”

A murmur rose as the people began to whisper amongst themselves. Varys slipped out of the crowd, gliding across until he was as close as he could get with the dragons still surrounding her. The five looked at the Master of Whispers then returned to watching the crowd, knowing the Spider was no threat to Brienne. 

“Cara’s orphanage is in Flea Bottom, my Lady Ser,” Varys explained. “But I recommend taking the meat to the small sept that serves the community. They provide meals for all in need, not just the orphans. Many are in need.”

Brienne nodded. “Lead the way.”

The dragons took to the sky again, causing the people around them to gasp in wonder and fear. She and the Queensguard followed Varys down steadily narrower streets. The stench, always strong in the city, grew more intense as the lanes became more crowded. But their path opened almost instantly when people spotted the dragons overhead. Brienne had begun to fear the streets would become too narrow for the horses when Varys finally stopped in front of a drab building surrounded by dirty awnings and shanties. 

While their path ahead was clear, there was no shortage of people following them. The observers crowded the street behind them and well in front of them, watching the horses laboring under their heavy burdens with naked want in their eyes. Still, they retained a respectful distance, either out of fear of the dragons or in hopes of sharing the fresh kill.

The septon came out of the sept, his eyes nearly bulging at the sight of the fresh meat. “Seven blessings to you, my Lady,” he praised.

Brothers clad in simple robes came out to relieve the horses of their burdens. Several of the larger carcasses, of wild boars and stags, proved to be too much for the thin, frail brothers. Brienne stepped up to help but the dragons stopped her, keeping their careful guard around her.

“Help them,” Brienne ordered the Queensguard. 

The guards jerked, affronted by the order. 

Brienne scowled fiercely. “Or would you rather guard the dragons while I help them?”

The five Queensguard eyed the five dragons with obvious concern. The men looked at each other, then Osmond led the others to the horses, careful to stay well out of the dragons’ fire range. 

“Well done, my Lady Ser,” Varys murmured, watching the Queensguard struggle with the heavy burdens. “Very well done, indeed.”

Brienne was about to reply when her attention was caught by a man at the mouth of a nearby alley. He was tall, with thick white flowing hair and a heavy beard of the same flowing white, giving the impression of a lion’s mane around his face and the darkest skin she’d ever seen. But what really caught her attention were the red and orange flame tattoos inked across the man’s forehead and cheeks. He wore the red robes of the followers of R’hllor and carried an iron staff topped with a dragon’s head. 

The man nodded at her and Brienne nodded back. She noticed the people around the man gave him a wide space, as if he were as dangerous as the dragons surrounding her.

“Rytsas, nyke Brienne,” she greeted, using her limited High Valyrian.

The man smiled. “Hello, I am called Moqorro.” He spoke the Common Tongue with only the slightest hint of an accent. 

Brienne looked at his tattoos again. “Are you a priest of the Lord of Light?”

Moqorro nodded. “I am, my lady.”

It’s ‘my Lady _Ser_ ’, you animal,” Osmond corrected. He reached out to strike the priest with his armored hand.

“Stop!” Brienne ordered. “You have no cause to hit that man.”

“He doesn’t belong here, my Lady Ser,” Osmond insisted, but stepped back. 

The septon came to join Osmond. “The good Ser is correct, my Lady Ser. This man follows a false god, he teaches his worthless children to follow a terrible religion of blood and sacrifice. His kind do not belong among the good people of Westeros.”

“Do you consider the dragons to be worthless, septon?” Brienne asked. 

Quickly the septon shook his head. “No, of course not, my Lady Ser.”

“I was born into the faith of the Seven. I am who I am today because of it,” Brienne explained quietly. “But it was the Lord of Light who led me to the dragons and guided me safely back to the Narrow Sea.”

The septon jerked back in shock and looked uneasily at Osmond. The knight looked back at the holy man with equal unease. The other Queensguard came to join them, keeping a safe distance away from the dragons. In turn, the dragons hissed, watching their surroundings and the White Cloaks with cold, steady regard.

“Then it was the Drowned God who gave us food and protection until the dragons had grown enough for me to leave them.” Brienne looked around and saw the crowd watching and listening with rapt attention. She raised her voice. “Now it is the Old Gods who provide the meat to feed your children. This food the dragons provide is a gift from _all_ the Gods. They have all provided for the dragons and now the dragons provide for you. No one, regardless of faith, shall be denied a share of this bounty.”

She looked around. The Queensguard, the septon, the brothers and even their audience were still, looking at the five and whispering amongst themselves. Brienne turned back to the Red Priest. 

“The septon said you have children. Do you also care for orphans?” she asked.

Moqorro’s expression tightened. “The children I care for are worse than orphans, my Lady Ser.”

Bienne blinked. “What can be worse for a child than being an orphan, with no family to care for them?”

“Children whose parents deliberately throw them away,” Moqorro explained gravely. “Parents who would rather their babies die in the streets than shame them in their homes.”

“Shame?” Brienne repeated. Her heart began to pound at the sorrow in the Red Priest’s eyes. “Where are these children?” 

The priest hesitated, then looked from Brienne to the dragons surrounding her. Silently he turned away. Brienne followed him down the alley, ignoring the muck under her feet and the silent line of annoyed Queensguard following after her. The dragons flew overhead but still kept her in their fire range. They wound through narrow passageways until they ended up beside a tiny, torn cloth cover. Brienne bent down to look under the dirty awning. The heartbreaking sight caused her to gasp and nearly brought tears to her eyes. 

A group of tiny, naked, dark-skinned babies laying listlessly on their backs, so starved they looked like living skeletons, peered back at her with dull, blank faces. The tears threatened to fall from her eyes as the oldest, a small girl no more than two or three, instinctively raised her hands to protect her head and cowered away. Brienne blinked back her tears determinedly. She was a knight now. She would solve problems without tears, no matter how much a situation hurt her to witness.

The dragons landed around her, preventing her from reaching out to the children. She looked around frantically. There were other men and women around, under other covers and watching with dead eyes from a safe distance, but none of them approached. She looked back and saw the Queensguard push their way through the crowd.

“My Lady Ser, don’t go near them,” Osmond warned. “They’re dirty.”

“No more than anyone else,” Brienne snapped back. “Gather them up. They’re sick. They need to be taken to the masters.” 

“Maesters,” the knight repeated. “The masters won’t touch them either.”

“It’s the maesters’ duty to tend to the sick,” Brienne snarled. “These children need help.”

“The maesters can’t help them, my Lady Ser,” Boros explained. “Their sickness is in their skin. The filth doesn’t wash off.”

Finally, Brienne understood what they were saying. They thought the children’s skin color made them dirty. She looked at the babies again but she didn’t see their dark skin. Her blood-red fury nearly blinded her. The dragons hissed and puffed, attuned to her emotions. Their audience, including the Queensguard, moved away, also picking up on her mounting anger. 

Brienne knelt and wrapped her arm around Catren. Keeping the dragons’ leader calm would keep the rest of the dragons calm, as well. But she’d forgotten how intelligent and sensitive the five truly were. Gallan, standing beside Catren, shifted to allow Brienne to reach into the shanty just past their protective circle. She briefly hugged the blue dragon before holding out her other hand to the little girl. The child looked at the dragons and shrank away but there was nowhere for her to go. 

Suddenly Allwyn folded in its wings and ducked under Brienne’s hand. The blue-grey dragon, the one who always wanted to be held, gently brushed its head against the child’s upraised arm. The girl’s mouth opened on a silent shriek and she shuddered again. Allwyn repeated the gesture, waited, then touched the child for a third time. Finally, the girl lowered her arms and stared at the dragon, her trembling fear spilling out of her dark eyes. 

Silence settled on the crowd as the dragons, minus Allwyn, shifted their formation as they faced their audience. They formed a defensive line, keeping Brienne and the children behind them, hissing at the people around them, including the Queensguard. Allwyn lowered its head almost to the filthy ground and moved closer to the frightened girl. It brushed its head against the child’s arm a fourth time. This time the girl responded. She raised her hand, as if to touch Allwyn, then jerked her hand back, as if expecting to be hurt or reprimanded.

“It’s alright, love, you’re safe,” Brienne crooned. “This is Allwyn. The dragon won’t hurt you. You can touch it.”

The child looked at Brienne, distrust in her dark eyes. Then she looked back at Allwyn, who held its wings close, making itself as small as possible. Tentatively, the girl reached out again. Allwyn shifted closer, decreasing the distance between them, so the girl’s tiny fingers landed on its head. The girl jerked away at the contact but then held her fingers out again. The two seemed to make a game of it, the girl touching Allwyn for longer and longer while Allwyn patiently leaned in for each pat.

Brienne backed out of the lean-to and searched the crowd. The people had not moved, staring at the dragons with a mixture of fear and awe. She spotted the Queensguard, bunched together in a tight group, hands on their sword pommels, as they surveyed the smallfolk.

“Give me your cloaks,” Brienne demanded.

Osmond leaned back, as if he feared Brienne would bodily strip him of the white cloak. “These are the cloaks of the Queensguard,” he explained. “They symbolize our loyalty to the monarch. We will not besmirch them by shedding them in such an unclean area.”

“You’d rather besmirch them with the blood splatters of helpless little girls, do you?” Bronn taunted, as he pushed his way out of the crowd.

Brienne turned to look. Varys came out behind Bronn, followed closely by Podrick, Tyrion and Sandor. The council members looked at the Queensguard with loathing. They had also had bad experiences with the White Cloaks in the past.

“We’re Kingsguard.” Boros turned to face Bronn, his hand tightening threateningly on his sword. “I followed my King’s orders faithfully.”

“Your king was a cunt,” Sandor growled. “And so are you.”

There was a murmur from the crowd, as they looked between council members, the dragons and the guards. The tension rose as the dragons ignored the men they knew wouldn’t harm Brienne to focus on the men they didn’t trust. The five remaining Queensguard glanced at each other then shifted, watching the crowd warily.

“Lady Ser Brienne gave you an order,” Tyrion reminded them. “She asked you to remove your cloaks.”

“We serve the Queen,” Preston insisted. “We don’t take orders from upjumped knights.”

“Well, that just breaks my heart,” Bronn drawled. “I’d dirty your white cloaks for you but I don’t want to set a bad example for my foster-dragons. They’re very sensitive.”

The Queensguard members looked uneasily at the four dragons, who puffed and hissed, their long tails swishing over the dirty ground. 

Bronn shrugged easily. “See what I mean?”

“I’m Hand to the Queen,” Tyrion said. “I’m ordering you to remove your cloaks.”

“The Queensguard do not remove their cloaks,” Boros insisted. “Our armor and our cloaks indicate we are White Cloaks, the greatest and most skilled warriors in Westeros.”

Sandor snorted. “Cunts, the lot of you.”

Tyrion looked at Sandor then back at the White Cloaks, disgust and loathing clear in his angry face.

“Well then,” Tyrion said, his voice artificially pleasant, “we wouldn’t want to sully your fine reputations. I had ample opportunity to witness your brave acts during my previous stays in King's Landing. As of now, you no longer represent Queen Daenerys and are no longer in her service.”

“You can’t do that,” Osmond protested. “The brotherhood is for life. We swore an oath.”

“You swore many oaths,” Tyrion snapped. “You also lied under oath. Remove your cloaks and swords, _now_.”

“You can’t do this,” Boros protested, staring down at the Hand to the Queen. 

“I can and I have.” Tyrion crossed his arms and glared at the former Queenguard. “Remove your swords and armor.”

The former Queensguard looked at each other then back at Tyrion. Bronn and Sandor put their hands on their sword belts.

“No!” Brienne cried, grabbing Gallan and Ardayn, the dragons closest to her. “No swords. Don’t upset the dragons.”

Bronn and Sandor froze, holding their hands splayed over their sword pommels and looked at the dragons. Tyrion and Varys also stood very still, as they watched the dragons. Podrick hurried over to Brienne’s side, slipping between Serdun and Catren and wrapping his arms around their necks to hold them. On both sides, the crowd moved back, pushing and shoving to get further away from the rising threat.

“Remove your swords very slowly,” Brienne advised the White Cloaks. “Then remove your armor. The dragons will consider you less of a threat without them.”

Preston looked around. “You cannot expect us to face these people unarmed and unarmored.”

“Big, strong men like you?” Bronn spoke easily even as he slowly moved his hand away from his sword. “You’ll be fine. You’re the greatest and most skilled warriors in Westeros.”

“Do it now,” Tyrion ordered, his voice lowering to a threatening hiss, “before I tell Lady Ser Brienne about what your brotherhood did to her dear friend, Lady Sansa.”

“I already know,” Brienne growled.

The dragons, picking up on her spiked emotions, hissed again and spread their wings, extending them to their fullest, reminding everyone they were the deadliest creatures in King’s Landing. Almost immediately, the Queensguard began removing their sword belts. Brienne and Podrick kept tight holds on the four dragons while the guards unfastened their cloaks and unclamped their chest plates. 

A moment later the five were down to shirts and breeches. Without the white-enameled armor to cover their flaws, their soft bellies and dissipated faces were left bare. These men, who had abused Sansa and sneered at helpless orphans, didn’t deserve to be called knights. Brienne stared at them but didn’t speak. The men looked around uneasily.

“Go,” Tyrion snarled. “Run fast and never let me see you again.”

The five men looked at each other, then the dragons, before turning to melt into the crowd. The dragons folded in their wings but remained on high alert, watching their surroundings with cold, assessing eyes.

Sandor went over to the pile of metal and cloth. He passed the sword belts to Bronn and the white cloaks to Varys. The Spider brought the capes to Brienne, glancing down at the dragons as he handed them over. 

“Tear them in half, please,” Brienne requested. “We need to swaddle the babies to take them to the maesters.”

Podrick and Varys began tearing the white cloaks while Bronn and Sandor picked up the pieces of armor. Tyrion, now burdened with the sword belts, came to stand beside Brienne. His eyes widened at what he saw, from the starved, listless babies to Allwyn and the little girl snuggled together under the dirty awning. Brienne worked around the pair as she wrapped up the tiny, skeletal babies and passed them out to Podrick who carefully passed them over the dragons’ heads.

“There’s too many of them, my Lady Ser. We can’t carry them all,” Podrick pointed out. 

Brienne crawled out from under the awning and looked around. Podrick, Varys and Moqorro held a babe in each arm. Bronn and Sandor held armor while Tyrion juggled the swords. There were still another four babies and the little girl to take with them. 

“May I assist you, my Lady Ser?” a quiet voice asked from within the crowd.

The people separated to allow a large man, with a powerful form but a gentle face under a swirl of brown hair, pass into the center. Tyrion glanced up at the man, back to Allwyn then jerked back to stare at the man.

“Ser Balon?” he gasped.

“Lord Tyrion,” Balon nodded his head politely. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Lady Ser Brienne, this is Ser Balon Swann,” Tyrion introduced him. “This is a man who truly deserved to wear the white cloak. He was the only Kingsguard to speak in my favor at my trial.” He smiled up at the big man. “I’d wondered where you’d gone.”

Balon’s face was calm and expressionless. “The Queen Regent found fault in my service. She took my cloak not long after you left the capital.”

“I’m very sorry to hear it,” Tyrion said, laying his burden of swords on the ground. “You chose to remain here instead of returning to Stonehelm?”

Balon shrugged. “I wasn’t needed at House Swann. I was needed here.”

Brienne hadn’t missed how the crowd had parted for Balon. He hadn’t pushed or shoved but the people had still moved aside to let him pass. Here stood a former Kingsguard who was treated respectfully by the smallfolk. She looked down at the dragons, who still surveyed the crowd intently but didn’t seem alarmed by the big, burly former guard. 

“Do you know how to hold babies, Ser Balon?” Brienne asked.

Balon shook his head. “No, my Lady Ser, but I do know how to hold armor and swords.”

Bronn sighed with exaggerated patience and passed over his burden to the bigger man. “I guess that means I have to carry babies. A foster father’s work is never done.”

Brienne stared at the recently anointed knight. “You know how to hold babies?”

“Aye.” Bronn held out his arms. “You may not know it, looking at me now, but I wasn’t born in a fancy house with nursemaids to wipe my arse. I spent plenty of time in places much like this.”

Brienne quickly wrapped up the remaining babies and passed them out to Bronn and Tyrion. She tried to wrap up the little girl but she and Allwyn refused to part from each other. Finally, she draped the last bit of white cloth over the child’s shoulders and picked up both dragon and child. 

The crowd parted silently for them. Brienne had no idea where she was but Balon, now weighed down with sword belts and armor, moved forward with confidence. The remaining dragons took to the sky while Allwyn refused to leave its new friend. Tyrion looked up at Balon with obvious pleasure.

“Many things have changed, Ser Balon,” the Hand assured him. “You might have noticed we’re short a few Queensguard. Would you consider returning to the brotherhood, this time under a new queen?”

Balon looked down at Tyrion then at Allwyn and the little girl in Brienne’s arms. Finally, he looked up at Brienne. He was almost her height, perhaps an inch or so shorter, but bigger and stronger than her. He held his mass well, his steps quick and deliberate. He smiled at her with obvious approval.

Brienne hesitantly smiled in return at the truly honorable knight. He was a man born into a noble house but who had chosen to remain among the most needy and desperate in the poorest, most dangerous area of the capital. A man who served the people when he was no longer allowed to serve the king. 

Ser Balon was the type of man Griff needed to have around him. Too many men accepted orders from their kings simply because they were from the king. They deluded themselves into thinking they were honorable because they served the ruler. But bad rulers gave bad orders, from Aerys the Mad who burned men alive with wildfire to Joffrey the Cruel who had his Kingsguard beat Lady Sansa. A good king allowed those he trusted to offer advice and knew when to temper his own actions. Those who protected the king might have occasions to protect the king from himself. 

“I was proud when I was chosen to wear the White Cloak, my Lord,” Balon answered softly. “But the brotherhood was not what I’d hoped it would be. I despaired for the people of this city. Now I see great potential for the future. But I have found a better way.” He looked directly at Brienne. “I choose to serve with those who serve with honor.”

Tyrion’s face fell and he shifted the babies to more comfortable position in his arms. Balon didn’t attempt to shift his heavier load, using his strength to his advantage. Bronn, Podrick, Varys and Moqorro followed silently after them, close enough to listen to their conversation.

“You will serve with honor,” Tyrion assured him. “Your new queen is a woman of compassion and strength.”

“A woman of compassion and strength,” Balon repeated, looking again at Brienne, “is exactly what this city needs, my Lord.”


	29. Succession Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People died and people killed to decide who sat on thrones and were given the power to rule them. Simple declarations didn’t make men kings, anymore than drinking wildfire made them dragons or building thrones fifteen feet high made them Gods.

### Chapter 29: Succession Keeper

“Come, love, have another bite,” Brienne coaxed, holding out a chunk of sweet plum to the little girl.

The baby, small and fragile, could not walk on her own though she tried mightily. The dragons fixed that problem for her. They took turns sitting beside her, allowing her to hold and even lean on them as she moved from place to place. 

“My Lady Ser, she’s not used to eating so much,” a woman in a simple, homespun gown looked up from the baby she held to her breast. “None of ‘em feed much.”

Brienne stopped watching the baby and looked up at the wet nurse in consternation. She and the dragons had stayed in the maesters’ quarters with the babies and Moqorro for the previous day and night. Though the maester had ordered the babies be washed and properly swaddled, Brienne didn’t trust him with the children’s safety. The dragons had kept the surly old man behaving politely and properly but it was the quiet and gentle wet nurses who truly cared for the helpless infants. 

“But they won’t become healthy without eating more,” Brienne protested, looking at the woman with concern.

“They’ve been without a mother’s teat for too long,” the woman explained. “They can’t hold milk.”

The wet nurses were seated on the far side of the room, behind a partially closed curtain. The dragons stayed away from the woman, and the two others who’d tried to nurse the babies, knowing they had no evil intentions. Still, the woman was tense and anxious as she watched the small child leaning heavily on the dragons. 

“What can we do?” Brienne demanded, looking over to the Red Priest. 

“Comfort them as they return to their Lord.” Moqorro looked sorrowful. “I have been in King’s Landing for four turns of the moon. In that time, I’ve eased more than a dozen babes’ passing. I cannot feed them. I simply assure they don’t leave this world alone. It’s the cycle of life and death.”

“Are you saying we can’t save them all?” Brienne stared at him in horror. “What about oldest? She’s not newly born. She’s almost walking.”

“Aye,” the woman agreed. “That one had her mother, at least for a time. She doesn’t need to nurse. Most likely, a customer didn’t like her and the mother had to throw the babe out or they’d both starve.” 

The baby, whose skin was the dark cream color Brienne had often seen in the ports of Essos, had most likely been born to a whore. Though slavery was forbidden in Westeros, she knew there were places that catered to every perversion, often buying and smuggling in slaves from Volantis to meet the demand. The poor mother had tried to raise this sweet child but the prejudices of Westerosi society had refused to even see their suffering.

Brienne had asked Moqorro for the little girl’s name but he’d only shrugged and shook his head. The child was gentle, quiet and, now that she knew the dragons were her protectors, inquisitive. The maester stared at the baby as she made her slow way around his chambers but didn’t speak a single word of objection. But no sane man would dare object when the dragons were clearly taken with the babe. Having the dragons so near caused the old man to tremble so much, Brienne worried he’s soon need medical help himself. 

“She must have a name,” Brienne insisted. “A name gives her an identity.”

“What would you like to call her, my Lady Ser?” Moqorro asked.

Brienne blinked. “Me?”

“You are the reason this child has food and protection.” Moqorro smiled his sad smile. “She’s too young to choose for herself or object to the name you select.” 

The baby, frail and weak, had tired from her walk. She was curled up on the floor, Allwyn and Gallan on either side, keeping her warm and safe. Brienne put down the plum and scooped up the little girl. The baby looked back at the dragons but didn’t object to being in Brienne’s arms.

“I’ve been calling her ‘love’ because she’s so sweet,” Brienne murmured. She looked back at Moqorro. “What is the High Valyrian word for ‘love’?”

“Jorrāelagon, my Lady Ser,” the priest said.

“Jorrāelagon,” Brienne repeated. “That’s too long a name for such a little babe. Shall we call her Ela until she grows into it?”

Moqorro nodded in consent. Brienne looked down at little Ela. The baby looked back at her, with her dark eyes round and wide and her small thumb creeping into her mouth. Brienne took her to the dragons. Catren, Allwyn and Gallan watched them while Ardayn and Serdun remained on guard duty. She knelt down with Ela in her arms.

“Jorrāelagon,” Brienne announced, holding the baby out for them. “Ela.”

Catren and Gallan squawked in agreement. Allwyn, the first to befriend Ela, began their patting game, brushing its head against Ela’s arm. The baby waved her hand, happily playing with the most dangerous creatures in King’s Landing. Moqorro, the maester and the wet nurses watched them nervously, fear and caution visible in their eyes.

The main doors opened. Brienne looked up to see Balon and Tyrion enter. Brienne rose, Ela in her arms. The knight, despite his highborn birth, wore rough homespun cloth and a sword, wide and shiny, hung from the twisted leather belt at his waist. 

“Hello, Lord Tyrion, Ser Balon,” she greeted. 

“Good morning, my Lady Ser,” Balon greeted her, smiling warmly. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Good morning, Lady Ser Brienne,” Tyrion also greeted her, but his mouth was set in a flat, serious line.

Brienne’s pulse quickened at seeing his expression. “Is there a problem, Lord Hand?”

The Hand to the Queen surveyed the room, from Brienne still half-crouched on the floor, to the dragons clustered around her and Ela playing the patting game with Allwyn. Ardayn and Serdun looked at Tyrion expectantly, as if waiting for him to speak. Moqorro, the wet nurse, the maester and his assistants all stiffened, tense and expectant. 

Tyrion shook his head but his features remained strained. “No, not at all. However, there is an important matter I wish to discuss with you, if you have the time.”

Brienne hesitated and looked down at Ela in her arms, then at the babes resting on cots or in the wet nurse’s arms. While the wet nurses and Moqorro would take care of the babies, she had no such faith in the maester or his assistants. 

“Ser Balon is eager to visit with the children,” Tyrion added smoothly. “I’m sure they’ll enjoy visiting with him as much as he has been looking forward to seeing them so safe and well cared for. Isn’t that right, Ser Balon?”

“Indeed, it is, Lord Hand.” Balon answered Tyrion but looked at the maester with a cold smile. “It gives me great joy to see them so well.”

Balon gave the maester a cool, steady stare. The maester looked from the dragons to Ser Balon and swallowed visibly. Still, he managed a weak smile and busied himself with his medical equipment. His assistants clustered around him, while the wet nurse studied Balon with interest. Brienne relaxed. Balon would ensure the children were safely tended to until she returned.

“Very well, my Lord.” Brienne reluctantly handed Ela over to the Red Priest. 

Tyrion smiled at the little girl as she settled in the priest’s arms. He put his hand out. Moqorro bent down to allow Tyrion to stroke Ela’s soft, warm cheek. His hand touched the priest’s arm. Moqorro gasped and pulled back, his gaze suddenly blank and vacant.

Tyrion jerked his hand away and stared at the Red Priest. “Pardon me. I meant no disrespect.”

Moqorro turned his head to look at the Hand of the Queen but his gaze was unfocused, as if he were looking inward. 

“Take care, son of Tywin. I see what’s to come. Dragons old and young, true and false, bright and dark. And you.” Moqorro spoke in a flat, lifeless voice. “A small man with a big shadow, snarling in the midst of it all.”

“What? How?" Tyrion gasped.

Tyrion stumbled back as if Moqorro’s words had hit him with the force of a physical blow. Brienne watched the blood drain from the youngest lion’s face.

“Are you well, Lord Hand?” Balon asked with concern.

“Yes, I…I am,” Tyrion nodded but his face remained pale. “Ser Balon, please remain with the children. Lady Ser Brienne, will you walk with me?”

Tyrion turned and hurried out of the room, not waiting for Brienne to join him. She frowned and looked to Moqorro. The Red Priest blinked and the blank expression cleared from his face. He smiled his sad smile and straightened with Ela in his arms. He nodded at them politely and walked over to the cots. Brienne smiled at the sweet baby and Ela smiled back, her skeletal arm raised as if to wave to her.

Balon remained at the door until the dragons rose from the floor, following after Brienne. Then he went to stand by the windows, careful to stay out of their way. Tyrion left the maester’s chambers and was hurrying towards the central, most secure buildings in the Red Keep. Brienne caught up with him then shortened her stride to match his. The dragons rose above their heads, squawking loudly to announce their presence. 

“My Lady Ser, do you know how many men Queen Daenerys has in her armies?” Tyrion asked as they walked. 

Brienne frowned. “I hadn’t given it any thought, my Lord. However, based on the khalasar I saw yesterday, she has almost thirty thousand bloodriders.”

“Actually, she has nearly one hundred thousand people in her khalasar,” Tyrion corrected. “She left the women, children and nearly half of the men in Essos.”

Brienne gasped softly. “That many?” 

“Do you know why she left most of them behind when she came to Westeros?” Tyrion asked then answered his own question. “She left them to protect those who rule the Bay of Dragons in her name.”

“She also has the Unsullied,” Brienne pointed out. “That’s another ten thousand soldiers.”

“Eight thousand fully trained soldiers and five thousand still in training,” Tyrion corrected. “The two greatest armies and most powerful warriors in Essos.”

He walked very fast, faster than usual. Brienne barely had to shorten her steps to match his pace. Tyrion looked back nervously at the building they’d left. It was almost as if he was running away from the maester’s chambers. 

“Our armies are great and powerful, too,” Brienne reminded him. “If they weren’t, we wouldn’t be so concerned about Dorne and the Vale.”

“The Dornishmen and the Knights of the Vale have homes to return to.” Tyrion looked grave but didn’t slow his pace. “Have you considered what will happen to the Dothraki and the Unsullied after the war?”

Brienne studied the tight set of his features. “No, Lord Hand, I haven’t. 

Tyrion shook his head. “Over forty thousand foreign warriors have poured into Westeros and it’s all my fault.”

“Your fault? Why are we discussing fault? Has something happened? Have you heard word from the marchers?” Brienne gasped and stopped walking. “Have they been attacked?”

Tyrion, now several paces ahead of her, laughed but it was without humor. “The Dragon Queen travels with two fully grown dragons. Who would dare attack the Mother of Dragons?”

“The Night King,” Brienne declared, her voice flat. “He’s already taken Viserion.”

Tyrion nodded. “Yes, he has a dragon and Daenerys Targaryen has two dragons.” 

He hadn’t altered his pace so Brienne again lengthened her strides to catch him. They walked through a series of hallways and came out in a sunlit courtyard. The dragons flew up towards the sun then swept back down to them, enjoying the warmth of the sunshine on their outstretched wings. Beneath their feet, an enormous map of Westeros had been painted on the floor. 

“This area is called Maegor’s Holdfast,” Tyrion explained. “Cersei had this map painted in preparation for war with Queen Daenerys. My sister, being who she is, had it scaled to be twice the size of the Painted Table at Dragonstone, therefore it’s the largest map in all of Westeros.” 

He walked into the center of the courtyard, stopping when he stood on the Neck, over the Twins. Brienne’s stomach twisted. Those were the castles of House Frey, where she and Jaime had been caught by Locke and his men, where King Robb and his family had been slaughtered and where an unknown female assassin had murdered the entire Frey male line.

Brienne came to join Tyrion, standing on Harrenhal and the Isle of Faces. “Lord Hand, you said you had something to discuss with me?”

She was starting to become concerned of his manner. This was not the cool, collected Hand to the Queen she’d come to know. Tyrion would not meet her gaze and appeared nervous, ill at ease. Had it been the Red Priest’s strange, toneless words that had caused this odd reaction in the youngest lion?

A soft scrape caught her attention and she turned to the sound. Varys slipped out of the shadows and came to join them. Brienne looked overhead to the dragons soaring lazily in the sunlight, flying high then coasting back down. They were keeping watch over her, as usual, but weren’t alarmed. Whatever had disturbed Tyrion had not yet upset them. Varys stopped at the Bite, just above the Vale, on the painted floor. 

Tyrion turned to face the former Master of Whispers. “Are we secure?”

Varys nodded. “Almost.”

“What’s going on?” Brienne demanded. “Why have you brought me here?”

“This is the safest and most secure place in the Red Keep.” Tyrion answered her second question first. “I brought you here to discuss a matter of grave importance.”

Brienne looked from Tyrion to Varys then back again. The Hand to the Queen sighed while the Spider looked at him severely. Varys shifted but didn’t speak.

“My Lord?” Brienne prompted.

“I’m sorry,” Tyrion blurted out.

“What?” Brienne stared at him. “What are you sorry for, Lord Hand?”

“For the anger and vengeance I held in my heart,” Tyrion confessed. “For the lies I told to satisfy that vengeance and for the death and destruction I’ve brought to Westeros.”

Brienne looked to Varys for clarification. The Spider fought to keep his expression to the usual blank calmness he normally displayed. The corners of his eye’s tightened and his jaw was stiff, betraying his anxiety. He looked at Tyrion silently, waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying, Lord Hand.” Brienne’s own back began to stiffen as Tyrion’s grim expression melted into sorrow and regret.

“I’m the reason Daenerys came to Westeros,” he confessed. “I’m the reason over forty thousand invaders are on Westerosi soil and I’m the reason dragons rule King’s Landing.”

“But that’s what we wanted. We’re grateful to her. Queen Daenerys has agreed to help us in the battle against the Army of the Dead,” Brienne insisted. “We need her men and her dragons to fight this terrible enemy.”

“Brienne,” Tyrion’s voice became sharper, “I didn’t bring Daenerys here to help save Westeros. I brought her here to burn it to ashes.”

“You’re not making sense. Daenerys doesn’t want to be Queen of the Ashes,” Brienne argued. “She said so herself. She sacrificed Viserion to fight the Night King, she took King’s Landing without killing a single innocent and she’s marching north with her armies to help King Jon.”

Brienne stared at Tyrion, at the man who wore Daenerys’s Hand of the Queen pin. He had advised his queen against taking King’s Landing with fire and blood. He had counselled her to allow the Northmen to mine dragonglass from Dragonstone. He had even risked his own life to sneak into the capital to arrange a parlay with the sister who wanted his head. Now that same man was telling her he hadn’t had honorable intentions, had planned to allow the Dragon Queen to destroy King’s Landing and everyone in it? 

Tyrion shook his head. “Yes, that’s where we are now but back then…” He paused and took a deep breath. “When I left Westeros, I was enraged. My own family had falsely accused me of killing Joffery, horror that he was. The Kingsguard, the fine lords and ladies of the realm, my own father and sister had lied about me in order to bring about my destruction. I swore publicly to have my revenge on all of them.”

“You killed your father before you left,” Brienne reminded him. “You took your revenge on him.”

“I did.” Tyrion nodded. “Then I went to Essos and did everything in my power to bring the Seven Hells down upon King’s Landing. Daenerys wanted to go to Volantis, to free the slaves there. I convinced her to cross the Narrow Sea, to bring blood and fire to my enemies.”

Brienne looked at Varys. “You knew about this?”

Varys inclined his head. “I watched it happen but I didn’t understand why my friend was acting as he was. Fortunately for us all, he was able to overcome his anger.”

“What changed your mind, Lord Hand?” Brienne asked Tyrion.

The guilt changed to anguish as blood flushed his cheeks and tears came to his eyes. Tyrion blinked rapidly to clear his vision. He took a deep breath before he spoke again.

“Tommen and Mrycella. I loved them, I truly did.” Tyrion’s voice broke. He paused to regain his control. “When I heard about Mrycella’s death, I realized fire and blood wouldn’t discriminate. Yes, all those people who’d borne false witness against me would die but so would Tommen. He was innocent and he was kind. He would have been a great king.”

Suddenly the dragons descended. They formed a straight line and hissed angrily. Brienne now understood their different formations. They circled around her when they were protecting her from an unknown enemy, used their arrow formation when they were prepared to strike out in her defense and a straight line when they wanted to separate her from a threat. She looked up and wasn’t surprised to see Jaime at the far side of the courtyard, standing in the shade under a set of pillars. 

“Why are you telling me this, Lord Tyrion?” 

She asked the question to Tyrion but watched Jaime. He was dressed in his Lannister uniform, his spine locked straight, his expression as sad and strained as Tyrion’s. The Hand turned to look at his brother. Tyrion nodded but Jaime didn’t return the nod. He continued to stare steadily at Tyrion, not surprised by his little brother’s words. The two must have had discussed this between themselves before Tyrion approached her.

Tyrion turned back to Brienne. “Have you heard the expression ‘every time a Targaryen is born, the Gods toss a coin and the world holds its breath’ Lady Ser Brienne?”

Brienne nodded. “Yes, of course. But I’ve seen no madness in Daenerys.”

“Yet.” Tyrion stressed the word. “I’ve seen what she’s capable of doing. I was there for the second siege of Meereen. Then I watched as she and her bloodriders slaughtered the Lannister army on the Gold Road. She is a Targaryen. They take what they want with fire and blood.”

“But I’ve seen no madness in her,” Brienne repeated. “I’ve seen her in private, where she’s free to be herself, away from her duties. She has great ambitions, yes, but no madness.”

“Because of you,” Varys said softly.

Brienne frowned at the former Master of Whispers. “What? Me? What have I done?”

“You share her blood,” Tyrion answered. “She came to Westeros as the last of her bloodline, a foreigner to the land she was born in and an invader to the castles her ancestors built. You’ve changed her into the leader of the new Targaryen dynasty, a returning champion and the queen the people need to defend their homes. More importantly, you’ve shown her there is someone she can trust to manage and even expand upon what she’s already created: her armies, her kingdom and even her dragons. You are what pushed her away from the isolation, the grief and the madness.”

Brienne could only stare at Tyrion, speechless. Then she recalled her conversation with Jorah in the Throne Room while releasing the Valyrian steel swords from the Iron Throne.

_“There’s a fine line between grief and madness,” Jorah explained, his gravelly voice pitched low. “She’s much closer to that line than many others. But you have steadied her, pulled her further away from that line then she’s been in all the time I’ve known her.”_

_Brienne lowered her eyes, unable to meet the devoted knight’s gaze. Guilt tightened her throat. “Your queen is a good woman.”_

_“With many enemies and traitors plotting to bring her down.” Jorah leaned closer to meet her gaze. “She needs those who love her to stand by her side, guard her back and light her way. You, Lady Brienne, have illuminated her path. I thank you for it.”_

Brienne looked down, her face flushing at the grave expression on Tyrion’s face. The dragons, sensing her spiked emotions, hissed as they looked around for a threat. Finding none, the five broke their defensive line and began to spread out in the courtyard. Jaime still stood at the far end of the courtyard but the dragons chose to ignore him. Ardayn settled on the portion of the map that depicted Dorne, home to Starfall, birthplace of Ser Arthur Dayne. The dragon, named after Jaime’s idol, was only meters away from elder Lannister lion. 

“What are you saying, Lord Tyrion?” Brienne asked quietly. 

Tyrion sighed. “Lady Ser Brienne, there are only three possible outcomes to this war. The first is that the living win and Daenerys remains Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. In which case, I’ll guide to make the best possible decisions for Westeros. We’ll decide what to do with her armies.”

Brienne nodded. She hadn’t considered what would happen to the converging armies, regardless if Daenerys led them or not. Did it make sense for the Unsullied and the Dothraki to remain in Westeros? The Unsullied were famous for the cold-blooded discipline while the Dothraki were equally known for their hot tempers and bloodlust. How would the armies of Westeros view them when they no longer had a common enemy to bind them together?

Varys spoke up. “The second outcome is that the living will lose and dead take over Westeros. Then, your duty will be to take your young dragons to Essos.” 

“What?” Brienne recoiled. “You want me to desert the people in their time of need? How can I leave Westeros if the North falls?”

“How can you save Westeros if the North falls?” Tyrion countered. “If the combined efforts of the northern armies, the Dothraki, the Unsullied, the southland armies, the _Golden Company_ and two fully grown dragons cannot stop the Long Night, then what more can a single knight with five young dragons do?”

Brienne gasped, nearly losing her breath at Tyrion’s blunt words. She hadn’t considered what would happen if the Night King and his army wasn’t stopped. 

_“A great and terrible night will soon overtake the lands, including the Iron Islands. We must all, men and Gods, work together to protect the people.”_

She remembered what the saltwater priest had said to her at the beginning of her journey in Essos. He had _warned_ her of what was coming and told her how to protect the people. The Gods were working together with the armies of men. They guided her and she did her best to follow their guidance. 

“Lady Ser Brienne, something stopped the Army of the Dead the last time they marched south,” Varys reminded her. “The Wall was erected and the threat was contained for thousands of years. Perhaps you or the great minds of Essos will find a way to make Westeros prosper again. If not, your dragons may have grown enough to protect the cities of the Essos from the Long Night.”

Brienne’s mouth fell open in dismay. She’d sworn her dragons would never been used in the wars of men. But the Night King was no ordinary man. His army might overwhelm even the Gods’ protections. If so, then the dragons would be humanity’s last hope to stop the Army of the Dead. She looked down at the dragons. They had settled around her, their wings outstretched to take advantage of the warm sunlight, aware of her anxiety but comfortable in their surroundings. They knew Tyrion, Varys and even Jaime were no threat to her, despite her spiked emotions.

“The third outcome is that the living will defeat the dead but Queen Daenerys is lost in the war.” Tyrion fixed her with a hard, clear glare. “In which case, you must step forward and become Queen of Westeros.”

“Me?” Brienne gasps. “I can’t be queen. Have you lost your senses, Lord Hand? I’m a knight. My duty is to serve the people, not rule them.”

“Isn’t that why you follow your king?” Jaime spoke for the first time. “You said he was a man who served the people and not ruled them. That was your definition of a ‘just’ king.”

Suddenly, Brienne’s anxiety lessened so quickly, she was almost light-headed. Jaime was right. She already served a just king. King Aegon the Sixth Targaryen thought he’d lead a unified and powerful Seven Kingdoms. His intention was to save Westeros from unjust rulers. Was this the Gods’ plan? Was Griff supposed to lead the survivors of the Long Night? 

“Yes,” Brienne agreed quietly. “My king will lead the people. He’s the one the citizens need to guide them to a great and glorious future.”

“No, he’s not,” Tyrion said bluntly.

“What? You just said he was.” Brienne stared at Tyrion. 

“Jon Snow won’t leave the North.” Jaime stepped closer, his eyes hard and determined. “He’ll die with the Northmen rather than live without his people.”

“Even if he didn’t perish in the fighting, he wouldn’t be able to lead the Dothraki,” Tyrion added. “Remember, only thirty thousand bloodriders are here. What if the next Khal decides to bring his khalasar to Westeros, not to help, but to enslave the people?”

“Why would he?” Brienne demanded. “The Dothraki have never been interested in conquering the Seven Kingdoms before.”

Jaime came closer still. “We’ve never joined nearly all of our armies before. Even if we defeat the Army of the Dead, we’ll suffer heavy casualties. Dorne is already enraged and has close ties to the free cities of Essos. The Vale has chosen to pull out of the upcoming battle. Westeros will be vulnerable as it has never been in all of history.” 

Jaime was now standing at the edge of the map painted on the floor. He and Brienne both looked down at Ardayn. The silver-blue dragon had spread its wings, absorbing the sunlight, as it looked back at the Lord Commander. The dragons had never allowed Jaime this close before. Were they finally warming up to him, since he hadn’t repeated his harsh words to Brienne? 

“Do you know how Daenerys won over the bloodriders and became Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea?” Tyrion spoke up, regaining her attention.

Brienne shook her head.

“The Dothraki follow the most powerful leader, the one able to defeat all other khals in combat,” Tyrion explained. “Daenerys was separated from us after an ambush in Meereen. She was found by a khalasar who decided to take her with them to Vaes Dothrak, their capital city. There was a meeting of all the greatest khals of the Dothraki Seas. They decided she should stay in their capital to live out her days with the other widows of dead khals. Daenerys disagreed. So, she decided to take over the khalasar. How do you think she did it, Lady Ser Brienne?”

Brienne didn’t know but she understood the sentiment Tyrion was trying to convey. “With fire and blood?” she guessed.

“Yes,” Tyrion agreed. “She’s the Mother of Dragons. No man, no khalasar, and no army can stand against a dragon.”

_“What am I without my children?” she demanded. “They are all I am.”_

_“They are not all you are, Khaleesi,” Jorah insisted. “Were your dragons at your side when you went to Vaes Dothrak? You entered the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen with no dragons, no army, no advisors and emerged the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. You are Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. You have overcome too much to doubt yourself now.”_

Brienne recalled their meeting in the _Chamber of the Painted Table_. Daenerys had been sick with grief, with the loss of Viserion still fresh. She’d been inconsolable before the five had come to Dragonstone to bring hope back to the heartbroken Mother of Dragons. 

“That’s not true,” Brienne insisted. “Ser Jorah said she entered the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen with no dragons, no army and no advisor but still emerged as Khaleesi.”

“Do you really believe Daenerys was able to beat all the great khals without her dragons?” Jaime demanded. “You’ve seen her bloodriders. She couldn’t defeat them all in open combat.”

“You expect me to fight bloodriders in open combat?” Brienne gasped.

“Well, you did beat the Hound,” Jaime reminded her. “No one, other than you, has ever done that.”

“But no, you don’t need to battle them in open combat,” Tyrion reassured her. He moved away from her, going to the far side of the map, near the Westerlands. “Your dragons will ensure no one gets close enough to challenge you. You, as Queen, can manage the bloodriders. They will follow you or return to Essos, as you command, as will the Unsullied.”

Brienne hadn’t even considered what Daenerys’s armies would do after Griff came to take his rightful place as the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Tyrion had said the Dothraki followed the strongest khal, the one who defeated all others in combat. Did that mean Griff would have to battle Daenerys to take control of her bloodriders? No, that wouldn’t happen. The young dragons would protect Griff like they protected her. They would not allow anyone to harm him. Daenerys could not battle him. Griff would assume command of the remaining bloodriders and Unsullied without bloodshed.

“But the greatest threat to a weakened Westeros is the dragons,” Varys said quietly. He backed away, until he too was off the map. 

The dragons to move closer, circle around her. Brienne looked down at them. The five were calm, their reptilian eyes shifting from person to person, as if following the conversation. They had returned to their circle formation, but now in a relaxed fashion. As she watched, they shifted to lie on the floor with their wings spread, nearly touching each other. They were aware they were the most dangerous creatures in King’s Landing and comfortable in their surroundings.

“My dragons only harm those who try to hurt them or me,” Brienne insisted. “They don’t attack people without provocation.”

“Your dragons don’t but what about Drogon and Rhaegal?” Tyrion asked. “They’re trained in battle. Who’ll control them if Daenerys is no longer here?”

“I can’t,” Brienne insisted. “They don’t follow me.”

“No, but they do follow your dragons. Drogon and Rhaegal went with you when you took them from the Dragonpit into the Red Keep.” Tyrion reminded her.

“But that was because of the young dragons, not because of me,” Brienne protested. “Drogon and Rhaegal won’t follow me.”

“These young dragons follow you and the big dragons follow them,” Varys summarized. “That’s far better than allowing them to roam without any ties.” 

“Brienne, I know it sounds scary,” Jaime said, still standing tall and strong, so close he could almost touch Ardayn’s wing. “But we’ve discussed it over and over again. Controlling the dragons is the key to controlling the future. Westeros may need you to become the Protector of the Seven Kingdoms. There’s no one else who can manage the dragons.”

There was someone else. Someone ready and trained to be king, who understood the needs of the people and would save and serve them when they most desperately needed him. Only she knew a hero was coming to save all of Westeros. Griff hadn’t arrived yet. Until he did, she had to keep his existence hidden. That’s what loyal knights did; they kept their king’s secrets.

I cannot become Queen,” she said quietly. “The people won’t support it.”

“Actually, Lady Brienne, you’re the one person the people _will_ support,” Tyrion disagreed. “The North will support you because you pledged your sword to Catelyn Stark. King Jon has said, repeatedly, that House Stark stands behind you. You’ve shown them loyalty and they will return that loyalty, especially after the Long Night.”

“The Stormlands will support you because you’re one of them,” Varys added. “It honors them to have a Stormlands queen. Plus, your father, the Evenstar, Lord of Tarth, is well-liked.”

“The Iron Islands will support you because Yara Greyjoy leads them,” Jamie continued. “You’ll have the Westerlands support because Tyrion and I stand behind you. The Dornish have not yet selected their Prince, but he’d be a fool to oppose you.”

Tyrion walked up the steps to the balcony as he spoke. “The Dothraki, the Unsullied and the people of the Bay of Dragons will accept you as the natural successor to Daenerys. You share her blood and she has openly claimed you as her kin.”

He stopped and looked around, as if searching for something he’d misplaced. Then he looked over the balcony, down at her and the dragons. 

“Hmm, am I forgetting anything important?” Tyrion paused and pretended to think, tapping his cheek for emphasis. “Oh yes, how could I forget? You have _dragons_. Who would stand against you?”

Brienne shook her head. They made it sound so easy, as if she only had to declare herself and all of Westeros would fall at her feet. But thousands had already died to choose their own king, to fight the War of the Five Kings. She’d watched King Renly murdered by the red witch’s shadow demon, had personally executed Stannis Baratheon for the crime and had mourned when she’d heard about the death of Lady Catelyn alongside Robb Stark. She’d been present when Joffery Baratheon had been poisoned, watched Euron Greyjoy burn and had witnessed Cersei Lannister lose King’s Landing. 

People died and people killed to decide who sat on thrones and were given the power to rule them. Simple declarations didn’t make men kings, anymore than drinking wildfire made them dragons or building thrones fifteen feet high made them Gods. 

Brienne shook her head again. “No, I can’t be queen. It’s not my place.”

“Are you sure?” Tyrion waved his hand over the courtyard. “Look around you, Lady Ser Brienne. From where I’m standing, it certainly looks like it’s your place.”

Brienne looked around, confused, but finally understood what Tyrion had indicated. She stood in the center of the map painted on the floor. The dragons were gathered in a circle around her, their outstretched wings almost touching. The only part of Westeros visible was the God’s Eye, just under her feet.

The dragons had covered every inch of Westeros.


	30. Legacy Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Had they learned nothing from the reigns of Cersei, Tommen and Joffrey? A ruler who had no connection to the people, who didn’t understand how to help them or even what they needed could never effectively rule.

Chapter 30: Legacy Keeper

 

Brienne looked down at the young dragons covering the map of Westeros. They faced outwards, towards Jaime, Tyrion and Varys, but they were calm and relaxed. They didn’t see the three men as threats. But they weren’t the ones these men were trying to persuade into making a terrible mistake.

“Is that the only consideration, Lord Hand?” Brienne asked quietly, raising her head from studying the dragons.

Tyrion blinked. He looked down from the balcony to Jaime and Varys in the courtyard below. From the corner of her eye, Brienne could see the two exchanged furtive glances. Neither spoke so she kept her gaze on Tyrion.

“I don’t understand.” Tyrion frowned and again glanced at Jaime and Varys. “You can control the dragons. That is the only consideration necessary.”

“I know nothing about being a queen,” Brienne pointed out. “I’ve had no exposure to politics, no skills at mindless chit-chat, no experience as a battle commander nor do I have the patience to listen to overindulged lords complain about their taxes.”

“You needn’t worry about any of those details,” Tyrion assured her. “Your council is responsible for the daily details. Your Hand will manage the politics and speeches, the Master of War will be your battle commander and the Master of Coins will worry about taxes.”

“Then what will the queen do?” Brienne demanded. 

Tyrion shrugged. “You will rule.”

“Rule?” Brienne repeated, trying to keep the skepticism out of her voice.  “What does it mean to rule?”

“The queen’s advisors gather the information necessary for her to understand the issue and lay out the options before her.” Tyrion explained smoothly. “But you will make the final decisions.”

“I see,” Brienne said. “A wise ruler selects a council she trusts then takes their advice on how she should rule the kingdom.”

Tyrion smiled. “Exactly.”

“And you want me to be that queen because the dragons listen to me,” Brienne concluded. “Is that correct?”

Tyrion nodded and smiled, appearing pleased she grasped things so quickly.

“But what will you do if I’m so busy ruling your kingdom that I don’t have time to care for the dragons?” Brienne asked.

The three men stared at her, their eye’s widening and bodies stiffening. Varys was the first to recover. He pressed his hands together and glanced at Tyrion before smiling at Brienne.

“We wouldn’t allow that to happen, my Lady Ser,” he assured her. “We’ll make sure you have all the time you need for your most important duty.”

“ _You’ll_ make sure,” Brienne clarified. “You’ll limit the important decisions I’d have to make to ensure I have time to manage the dragons? The only way you could do that is if you made the lesser, unimportant decisions for me,” she pointed out. “Then I would only have to concentrate on the truly important matters, correct?”

“Correct.” Tyrion turned to walk across the balcony to the steps. “Your council will manage the mundane matters and only bother you with the most important decisions.”

Now all three nodded, their tension easing. Brienne’s heart began to pound as she tried to absorb the enormity of their appalling idea. This was their plan for the future of Westeros? They wanted to put a person without experience, proper temperament or the support of the people as their new figurehead? Had they learned nothing from the reigns of Cersei, Tommen and Joffrey? A ruler who had no connection to the people, who didn’t understand how to help them or even what they needed could never effectively rule.

At least Robert had tried to surround himself with intelligent, honorable people. But Robert’s arrogance, bitterness and gluttonous appetites eventually overwhelmed him. Even the smartest Hand to the King was powerless if the King didn’t accept his advice, assuming the advice was good.

An inexperienced ruler has no way of telling good advice from bad. What kept that Hand focused on the welfare of the Seven Kingdoms? Tyrion had already admitted to plotting to destroy King’s Landing.  Brienne believed he’d truly loved his niece and nephew and was affected by their loss. But they were gone and he’d returned to Westeros as the Hand to the new queen. Now he was plotting to take power from behind the throne. Could any man walk away from a vengeance that was so tantalizingly close? 

The dragons, sensing her growing unease, began to raise their bodies and fold in their wings. They were still relaxed but now on guard. Jaime, Varys and Tyrion glanced down uneasily at them but stood their ground. 

“Who decides which matters are most important?” Brienne paused but they didn’t speak. “For that matter, if my sole purpose is to manage the dragons, then why even have me as queen, Lord Hand? Your great council can _rule_ while the dragons and I return to Tarth.” 

Brienne’s eyes narrowed as Tyrion nearly stumbled on the first step. Fortunately, he had a good grip on the bannister and righted himself. The Hand to the Queen took careful, deliberate steps down the stairs. Brienne suspected he was composing his thoughts as he descended. Did he truly think she would go along with their terrible idea? But then Tyrion was a Lannister, the one most like his father, despite how Lord Tywin had felt about his dwarf son. Wanting the crown of the Seven Kingdoms, and the power that came with it, was in his blood. 

Varys and Jaime exchanged silent glances again. They didn’t speak as they waited for Tyrion to join them. They appeared to be stunned that Brienne was questioning their brilliant plan. The dragons sat up, still calm but definitely interested in the emotions swirling around them. 

“Westeros will have just emerged from the Great War,” Tyrion explained, giving her that same charming but false smile she’d seen on the serpent, Petyr Baelish. “The Seven Kingdoms will be weaker than we’ve ever been. The dragons are the most powerful weapons we have.”

“The dragons are not weapons,” Brienne snarled. “I will not allow them to be used in the wars of men.”

“The war would be over,” Tyrion said patiently. “They won’t go near a battlefield but we have so many enemies, both within the Seven Kingdoms and in Essos. Leveraging the dragons ensures the safety of our people.” 

“How?” Brienne demanded. “The dragons are not battle trained. How do you plan to leverage them?”

“The same way we’ll do so in Dorne,” Tyrion explained. “Once the Dornish see the dragons are very real and Daenerys is already using them to defend the North, Dorne will back down. It will be no different after the Great War.”

“It will be completely different, Lord Hand,” Brienne argued. “The Dornish may back down now, after seeing these young dragons, but it’s Daenerys and her dragons they fear. If we lose her in the Great War, Drogon and Rhaegal will be a threat to all of Westeros. I have no influence over them.”

“No one will know that,” Tyrion assured her. “I’ll convince our enemies that the dragons follow you. There’s no need to worry, Lady Ser Brienne. I’ll guide you.”

“You’ll guide me.” Brienne repeated. “I needn’t worry because _you_ will be in charge.”

“Yes,” Tyrion nodded. “I’ve done this before, in Meereen. I know how to handle this.”

“So, that’s what this is about.” Brienne nodded. “You want to show the lords of Westeros what a fine leader _you_ are. You want them to see, after the mistakes of your sister, your nephews and even your father, you’re here to save Westeros. Moqorro was right in his warning.”

“What do you mean?’ Jaime looked from Brienne to Tyrion then back to Brienne. “Who is Moqorro?”

Tyrion flushed but didn’t speak. Brienne didn’t miss how rigid his posture became. She had struck a nerve. Tyrion was indeed thinking of his own power and not the future of Westeros.

“Moqorro is a priest I met yesterday,” Brienne explained. “Lord Tyrion and I were with him this morning. He gave Lord Tyrion a warning.” 

“What did he say?” Jaime asked.  

Brienne didn’t look away from Tyrion as she spoke. “He said ‘Take care, son of Tywin. I see what’s to come. Dragons old and young, true and false, bright and dark. And you. A small man with a big shadow, snarling in the midst of it all.’ He foresaw our parlay in Dorne, didn’t he?”

“How could he?” Jaime protested. “We haven’t even finalized our plans.” 

“A small man with a big shadow, snarling in the midst of it all,” Brienne repeated. “That’s what you want, isn’t it, Lord Tyrion? You want to cast a shadow across all of Westeros. You know the people will not tolerate another Lannister ruler, not after Cersei’s terrible reign, so you’ll lead from the shadows.” 

“The priest spoke gibberish,” Tyrion insisted. “He described some of the dragons as false. How can that be? None of them are false.” 

“He meant me. I’m the false dragon!” Brienne hissed. “I was born of the bastard Targaryen line. Every other living Targaryen, from the humans to the dragons, have blood from both King Aerys and Queen Rhaella. Even Drogon and its children, these five, have Rhaella’s blood in their veins.  I’m the only false dragon.”

“But you can’t be false,” Varys protested. “You can command dragons.”

“So can the person who has _Dragonbinder_ ,” Brienne hissed. “Or have you forgotten there is someone out there who may have a weapon that enslaves dragons?”

Again, the three men exchanged concerned glances. This was proof that they hadn’t thought out their plan. They hadn’t even considered the terrible threat held over the dragons. Jamie looked down at the five then looked away. Varys unclasped his hands and nodded. 

“My Lady Ser, Bronn, Podrick and Sandor are searching diligently,” he reminded her, “as are my little birds. You may rest assured we’ll find this villain.” 

“Rest assured?” Brienne gasped. “Lord Varys, I have not rested, I have not _slept,_ for more than a few moments at a time since I found out about that terrible horn. Every time one of the dragons twitches, I wake with my sword in my hand. I live every moment in fear, not knowing when they’ll be taken from me. Instead of focusing on convincing citizens with your brilliant plans, my Lords, focus on finding this horror that may enslave dragons.”

Brienne’s voice broke but she didn’t care. Anyone in her situation would be emotional, knight or not. She was terrified, she was exhausted and she was _furious_. The dragons, her gift from the Gods, whom they’d _entrusted_ to her, were in danger. Tyrion wanted to become the new power in Westeros, use his political cunning to forge a new world. That vision would never come to pass if the dragons were enslaved. 

Even if _Dragonbinder_ wasn’t a threat, there were many others. They wanted to crown a false dragon and present it to the people. They thought their illusion would appease the citizens and make them forget their queen was only a cloth dragon. But a cloth dragon had no power other than the power of deception. How could they rebuild a kingdom with deceptions and lies? The dragons, the _real_ dragons, moved closer to Brienne, keeping their circle around her, picking up on her spiked emotions. 

“Whoever has the horn can only use it for a few hours,” Jaime pointed out, his voice calm and gentle. “The horn will kill them. They cannot enslave the dragons for long.”

“Not true,” Brienne countered. “Did Euron blow the horn himself? No, ordered his men to do it for him. If they’d taken the dragons, he’d tell them how to command them then allow his men to die for him.”

“But very few men are that blindly loyal to their leaders, to men like Euron Greyjoy,” Varys protested, “that they’d be willing to die for them.”

“Enough will,” Brienne countered. “There are men so blindly devoted to those they choose to serve, they’ll kill and they’ll die for him.” Her gaze shifted to Jaime. “Or for her.” 

Jaime jerked and took a step back, his eyes widening. His face flushed, his expression a cross between guilt and denial.

“Ser Jaime was devoted to Cersei. He was willing to do anything for her happiness. He murdered his own cousin in his attempt to escape Robb Stark and return to her. When his sister ordered him to march on the Tyrells, he did.” Brienne held Jaime’s gaze, refusing to let him ignore his own complacency in Cersei’s crimes. “He led his army to slaughter men who, only weeks earlier, were also under his command.”

“The Tyrells had betrayed the Queen,” Jaime insisted quietly.

“Cersei wasn’t their queen, Margaery was,” Brienne corrected. “The Tyrells never turned against Margaery. They loved her, as did most people in King’s Landing, except your sister. The Tyrells turned against Cersei because she murdered their Lord, their heir and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. So, yes, Lord Varys, there are people so blindly loyal, they will sacrifice themselves to ensure their master’s power. One of those people may have this horn.” 

“Lady Ser Brienne, I understand your frustration and your fear. We’re doing everything we can to find _Dragonbinder_ ,” Tyrion attempted to soothe her. “We all want you to have your dragons. That gives you the ultimate power.” 

“Lord Hand.” Brienne turned away from Jaime to glare at Tyrion. “I wasn’t raised in the capital or immersed in political intrigue from my cradle as you were. Still, I understand that power is dangerous. In the wrong hands, power can be devastating.”

“We’ll find that horn,” Tyrion vowed. “No one will have the dragons but you. There is no one better than you to have power over dragons.”

“I wasn’t talking about the dragons,” Brienne snapped. “I was talking about _you_.”

Tyrion’s whole body jerked. “What? Me?” 

“Yes, you,” Brienne confirmed. “Your family destroyed itself, and many others, in your pursuit of power. Your father ordered the sacking of King’s Landing. Thousands of innocent people were raped, beaten, mutilated, murdered and left destitute because Lord Tywin wanted power in the new reign. He died with _your_ bolt in his chest.” 

Tyrion had no response to that. He looked at Jaime briefly before lowering his eyes. Jaime let out his breath on a sharp hiss but said nothing. Brienne continued to glare at Tyrion. 

“Joffery was so bloated with power, he ordered Ned Stark’s beheading, despite the wise advice of his council,” Brienne continued. “How many thousands have died since the North demanded its freedom? Joffery was so hated, even you didn’t shed a tear when he was poisoned.” 

Brienne turned to look directly at Jaime. 

“Cersei was so controlled by her lust for power, she destroyed the Sept of Baelor,” Brienne reminded him ruthlessly. “She killed not only her enemies, but all the fine lords and ladies your brother so hated. She also killed scores of innocents and goaded her son, _your_ son, into taking his own life. Now she’s locked up in her elegant chambers, wearing the crown she destroyed so many to have, completely out of her wits.” 

Jaime shuddered and closed his eyes, but not before she saw the grief darkening the wildfire green to almost black. He pressed his lips together and shook his head, still silent. His pain pierced her but he had to accept the truth. Ignoring or hiding from problems would not solve them. Brienne took a deep breath to calm herself as she turned back to Tyrion. The Hand’s chest rose and fell rapidly with his ragged breaths.   

“Take care, Lord Tyrion,” Brienne warned him quietly. “Only you and your brother remain of your once-great dynasty. You’re both now working to mend your relationship. Learn from the lessons of your father, your sister and your nephew. Power is false and it is fickle. It will seduce and it will devastate. Don’t succumb to the lust for power that destroyed the rest of House Lannister.” 

Tyrion, Jaime and Varys were quiet when she finished. Her words were harsh but they were the truth. Tyrion had fooled himself into believing he was only interested in what was best for the Seven Kingdoms. But power in the hands of the few, without proper restraints, led to terrible outcomes. Kings who held themselves above other men and even Gods, lords who ordered whole cities to be ravaged and council members who would use innocents to wage their wars. 

The dragons, who had remained calm during Brienne’s tirade, suddenly began to squawk and look around anxiously, their wings extended and flapping. Catren and Allwyn soared into the sky, circled, then called down to the others. Serdun and Ardayn stayed with her, while also flapping their wings, but Gallan rose to meet them. Catren and Allwyn flew in wider and wider circles while Gallan coasted back down to her.  

Brienne pushed her hair back, but the wind from their wings tossed it back into her face. Her blood pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears. Was it the _Dragonbinder_ calling them? No, it couldn’t be. Ardayn and Serdun remained at her side and the other three were still close. Why were they so anxious? The last time she’d seen them circle like this was in the Dragonpit, when they’d come to find her at the parlay. Were they warning her of an oncoming threat? 

“What is it?” Jaime had his hand on _Widow’s Wail_ as he turned in a circle, looking into the shadows. “Is someone there?”

Brienne also looked around, trying to find the threat that had alarmed the five. No, that couldn’t be it. If the dragons sensed she was in danger, all five would have circled around her. Catren and Allwyn were still airborne while Gallan flew between them and her, squawking urgently. They were trying to get her away from the courtyard. Did they want her to leave Maegor’s Holdfast? If so, why? What would cause the dragons to want to herd her away from the courtyard? 

A chill slide down Brienne’s spine. Not what, but _who_. Who did the dragons care enough about to alert her to another person’s need? Who had the dragons spent the morning with, who was weak and sick and needed constant care? 

“Ela?” Brienne called out. She looked down at Serdun and Ardayn, who were still with her, despite their obvious agitation. “Jorrāelagon?” 

Ardayn and Serdun also began squawking at hearing the baby’s name. Had something happened to Ela or the other children? Were the dragons telling her to go to the maester’s chambers? Brienne didn’t hesitate. Ardayn and Serdun rose as she turned and ran out of the courtyard and through the hall that led out of the private chambers. She ignored Jaime calling out to her and focused on the five.

Once they exited the hall, the dragons spread out and formed their arrow formation. Instead of turning for the maester’s chambers, they headed out of the Red Keep. Brienne ran, heedless of the people scrambling out of her way, or rather the dragons’ way, clearing a path along the Hook, towards the River Gate. Her heart pounded double time as she realized they were taking her to Fishmonger Square.

_Podrick_.

Podrick was down at the square, asking the merchants there, and at the Fish Market just outside the gate, about the missing _Dragonbinder_. Had he spoken to the wrong person? Or to the right person who didn’t want her young squire asking questions? Brienne berated herself as she ran. Why hadn’t she considered how dangerous this mission was? Podrick was bonded to the dragons but they’d remained with her. He had no protection but his sword and his wits.

She was breathless and panting by the time she got to the busy square. Brienne was forced to stop to regain her breath. A collective shudder went through the crowd as the dragons descended. The Gold Cloaks milling through the crowd immediately unsheathed their swords. They dropped them on the ground, stepping on the blades to show the dragons they were no threat to them. Merchants and their customers quickly followed their example, some removing their swords while others dropped their sword belts altogether.

Brienne knew swords weren’t the only weapons hardened sailors kept on their person. She’d seen Griff strap knife sheaths to his thighs and forearms before they’d gone into ports. His sword belt had a length of fine wire threaded into it. The wire could be pulled out in seconds to be used as a garrote to strangle and slice into an enemy’s throat. He even had a slim sword sheath strapped to his back, under his shirt, to hold the needle-thin rapier he wore against his spine.

“Where’s Podrick?” she demanded of no one in particular.

The people looked at each other then back at her, or rather, at the dragons surrounding her. Their faces were blank and they shrank back in fear. Serdun, Ardayn and Gallan surrounded her, their focus outward, while Catren and Allwyn remained in the sky, flying in widening circles. Brienne looked up at them. They were able to follow her scent, and Drogon’s scent, from miles away but the capital was dense with bodies and smells. Could they separate Podrick’s scent from everyone else’s? 

“Brienne!” 

She looked over to see Jaime pushing out of the crowd, panting as heavily as she was. A few feet behind him, she saw Bronn also making his way forward, but not panting for breath as they were. That meant Bronn was already in the market when she arrived. His usual sardonic expression was missing, making the knight look uncharacteristically serious and solemn. Was Podrick with him? 

“Where’s Podrick?” she demanded.

The former sellsword looked around, as if expecting her squire to magically appear beside him. He looked back at her and shook his head. His brow furrowed and his shoulders noticeably tensed.

“I haven’t seen him since morning,” Bronn reported.

“Is he outside the gate?” Brienne asked, “in the Fish Market?”

Bronn turned to look at the River Gate. “I don’t know.”

Gallan screeched and took to the air. Brienne looked up. Catren and Allwyn had begun to reform their arrow formation as Gallan joined them. Brienne ran down River Row as Serdun and Ardayn rejoined the others above her head. People threw themselves into alleyways or pressed against walls to give her and the dragons a clear path.

She didn’t stop running until she was near the King’s Gate. Catren and Allwyn pulled away from the others and dove into the crowd milling around the stable and southern entrance. People screamed and cried as they ran from the dragons. Brienne unsheathed _Oathkeeper_ before she’d even come to a full stop. The Gold Cloaks stationed at the gate gasped and dropped their swords, backing away as Catren and Allwyn landed, screeching in warning.  

Only one man remained under the King’s Gate, standing very still. He was dressed in dull breeches and a brown cloak, unremarkable from any other traveler, except that the dragons had singled him out. Catren and Allwyn screeched again as they faced him. The tall man wore a hood that covered his head and obscured his face. Brienne held her sword in a two-handed grip. 

“Show yourself!” she ordered. 

Ardayn and Serdun landed beside Brienne, facing the crowd, extending their wings and hissing, their bodies puffed, reminding the people of how dangerous they truly were. Gallan remained in flight, hovering between her and the hooded man, as if unsure where to go. The Gold Cloaks were equally confused, looking from her to the dragons then back to her, waiting for direction. The people, unable to escape the crowded square, trembled visibly and shrank against the walls. 

Catren and Allwyn, still screeching madly, extended their wings and turned away from the man to face the shocked, cowering crowd. No one approached them but the dragons puffed, making it clear to all that the man was under their protection. 

“My Lady Ser!” Podrick pushed his way out of the densely packed crowd. “I’m here.”

Brienne looked over to her squire, standing safe, healthy and whole. She gasped, overwhelmed by the myriad of reactions hitting her at once. Relief that Podrick was safe, the receding terror that she might have failed him, the physical ache from the muscles tight with tension and the adrenaline rush from the blood pumping too fast in her veins. Her heart still pounded, aware that a momentous change had just occurred.

“My Lady S –” Podrick broke off as he looked past her and his eyes widened.

Brienne turned back to the hooded man then looked again at Podrick. Like Gallan above her, she didn’t know which one to go to. The Gold Cloaks looked from the man to Catren and Allwyn squawking angrily at them as they protected him. Almost as one, the guards looked over to her with Ardayn and Serdun, protecting her in the same manner, hissing warningly to keep the crowd away from her. Above their heads, Gallan cried out, flapping its wings furiously. The man spoke, finally making the decision for all of them. 

“Gallan, māzigon naejot issa,” he called.

Brienne shuddered and stilled, every nerve throbbing, every sense hyper-aware. Heat rushed through her at the sound of that voice; deep, smooth, commanding and familiar. She knew it, remembered it reverberating through her thoughts for the past five months but could hardly believe she was truly hearing it.

_Griff was here._

Gallan wasn’t held by the disorientation that had gripped her. The blue dragon threw itself at its father with such force, Griff was forced to take a step back. He caught the dragon against his chest. The motion tossed his body back and the hood fell off his head.

_It wasn’t Griff._

Griff had bright blue hair that danced around his shoulders, blue eyes so dark they were almost black and a smile that always coaxed her to smile in return. This man had thick silver blond hair, cropped close at the neck and swirling around the crown, falling over eyes such a deep blue they were almost purple and was so beautiful she had to look away from him.

Aegon Targaryen had arrived in King’s Landing without his army or fanfare. If it weren’t for the dragons surrounding him, the heir to the Seven Kingdoms would have entered unnoticed into the city his ancestors had built. He knelt to release Gallan and hug Catren and Allwyn, who were still guarding him. Then he crossed the market with long, familiar, ground-eating strides. In seconds he was in front of her.

“Hello, Brienne,” he said quietly. “Have you missed me even half as much as I’ve missed you?”

He smiled at her. It was that smile, crinkling the edges of his eyes, warm and familiar, that broke Brienne’s transfixion. She breathed in so deeply it was almost a gasp. _Oathkeeper_ fell from her nerveless fingers, falling harmlessly to the ground beside them. He was close enough that she could feel the heat pouring off his body, smell his scent, and hear his deep, steady breathing. She opened her mouth but couldn’t form words. 

“No?” His smile deepened. Suddenly, he looked like Griff again, grinning at her from under an unfamiliar fringe of silver-blond hair. “I missed you.”

The dragons screeched and squawked, pressing against them, pushing them closer. The five had formed a circle around them, still facing the crowd, wings extended, lethal bodyguards with fire in their mouths. Their attention, however, was divided between their duty and mindless joy.

Brienne nodded at Griff or tried to. Then it was too late to react. He pulled her into his arms, wrapping her close and bending his head to bury it in her neck. She’d forgotten how tall he was, taller than her. She closed her eyes as another shudder passed through her. Images from the past five months played behind her eyelids.

The memories were sharp reminders of the path she’d taken, of what she had done and what still must be done. She’d successfully navigated months of duty in the cold of the North, the dragons’ taking of King’s Landings and helped steady Daenerys, their most powerful warrior in the battle against the Army of the Dead. But greater challenges lay ahead of them. Their rapidly compiling problems threatened to suffocate her.

_Dragonbinder_ was the terror that had destroyed her sleep, but there were many other concerns to manage. The Night King could unleash his Army of the Dead at any time, once he’d raised Viserion and breached the Wall. Making sense of the vague, multi-layered prophecies would test Griff’s knowledge of history, language and cultures. The upcoming parlay with Dorne would require all of their skills at diplomacy and his army, while the worry about Daenerys’s desire for further conquest, Ela and all the orphans of war, starving people in desperate need and Tyrion’s mad plan for installing her as Queen required a clever mind and a calm disposition. How were they to manage all their problems?

_Their problems_.

It was no long _her_ problems; it was _their_ problems.

Brienne exhaled as she slumped against Griff, releasing the tension, letting him take her weight, physically and symbolically. She wasn’t alone in her battles anymore. No longer would she have to tell half-truths and omit details to hide her true alliance. She would have support to deal with the pressures that made sleep elusive and rest nearly impossible. Finally, she could share her burdens. A hero had arrived to save the Seven Kingdoms.  

King Aegon the Sixth Targaryen was finally home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for HalfPastLate: I got your e-mail when you sent it on the IF site. I tried to reply to you but the e-mails bounced back as 'e-mail full.' I'm not ignoring you! I'm glad you're reading (and enjoying?) this story!


	31. Duty Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was a knight of the Seven Kingdoms, an instrument of the God’s will and the keeper of their dragons. A warrior did not falter when faced with adversity.

### Chapter 31: Duty Keeper

Brienne allowed herself just that one moment to relax her guard, to ignore the pressures that robbed her of sleep and denied her rest. But that was all. She was a warrior, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms. She would not allow others to see her weakness, no matter how much the dragons protected her or how heavily her king was armed. She didn’t return Griff’s embrace but she was pressed close enough to him to feel the blade sheaths strapped underneath his nondescript clothes. She pulled away from him and gestured down to the dragons. 

“Ardayn and Serdun,” she murmured, gesturing to the two who hadn’t left her side, not even to greet their own father. 

Griff frowned as she stepped away from him but readily knelt down to embrace her most ardent guards. Brienne took the moment to reach down for her sword. She straightened and sheathed _Oathkeeper_ as the dragons leaned away from her, into Griff. Just holding her sword reminded her of her duty. She was a knight of the Seven Kingdoms, an instrument of the God’s will and the keeper of their dragons. A warrior did not falter when faced with adversity. 

“Sȳrī gaomagon, Ardayn, Serdun,” Griff praised as he pulled Ardayn and Serdun close. 

Like Brienne, they accepted his embrace and rested their heads against his shoulders, but only briefly. They quickly returned to their guard duty, aware this was not the time nor the place to display their love and relief at having Griff back with them. They understood duty must always come before personal desire. 

Brienne studied her king as he rose, light and graceful in his usual water dance style, but with the careful control that confirmed he was armed and prepared to be dangerous. She didn’t see a sword hanging from below the hem of his cloak but she was sure his rapier was strapped to his back. That made sense. A man trying to blend with his fellow travelers would be well-armed but won’t carry a highly prized Valyrian steel sword. Griff’s expression, while as controlled as his movements, didn’t betray any hint of aggression. In fact, his grin reappeared as he looked into the crowd.

“Podrick!” he called. “It’s good to see you again.”

Podrick grinned in return and separated from the crowd. In seconds, her squire crossed the way and grasped Griff’s outstretched arm, clasping the king’s forearm as warriors did. Podrick’s eyes widened slightly but the alarm quickly gave way when Griff used their grip to pull Podrick closer and slapped him lightly on the back. The dragons shifted aside to allow Podrick into their circle of protection then closed their link.

“It’s good to see you, too, Gr—” Podrick stopped, his face flushed with an embarrassed color. “I…I’m not sure what to call you now.”

Griff shook his head as he released Podrick’s arm. “We’ll sort that out later, Pod. For now, we should allow all these good people to return to their business.”

Unsaid was that Griff should be taken away from the busy, crowded marketplace. His entrance was sudden and unplanned. He’d tried to hide his identity by covering his silver blond hair and wearing dull, homespun cloth. However, the dragons instant defense of him, along with his ease with them, had given him away.

Brienne looked past him, beyond the gate to the Gold Cloaks staring at them. The guards had retrieved their swords but kept their distance. They looked from the man with Targaryen coloring to the dragons guarding him with the same ferocity they displayed when guarding Brienne. They had determined he was another dragon not to be questioned or approached. 

“Did you come alone?” she asked quietly. “Why is there no one protecting you?”

“No one even noticed me until the dragons,” Griff explained softly. “I was no more likely to be attacked than any other traveler.”

“And better armed than most,” Podrick added, also speaking in a hushed voice, his gaze drifting down to Griff’s arms. “You’re wearing dagger sheaths.”

“More than that, young Podrick.” Griff grinned again. “I’ll show you when we have time. Now, we need to leave this market before we attract trouble.”

Griff looked around at the guards, shopkeepers, stable boys and citizens watching them with stark expressions. Some looked terrified, focused on the dragons, wary of their fierce protective instinct. While none of the dragons had attacked the citizens of King’s Landing, their reputations were well known. Drogon had slaughtered the Lannister forces and little Gallan had burned the Ironborn King who’d threatened Brienne and Daenerys. 

“That’s unlikely,” Podrick assured quietly. “People are afraid of the dragons but they know they’ll only attack if provoked. Plus, the dragons and my Lady Ser provided meat for the hungry, gave comfort to the sick and aide to the defenseless. The people know they’re here to protect them.”

Podrick beamed at Brienne, not attempting to hide his deep pride. Brienne looked down, flushing at the compliment. She smoothed down the sides of her modified gown. Daenerys had left the day before but the dresses continued to arrive. This one was Stark grey with thick Targaryen red borders and black breeches. 

Her embarrassment gave her an excuse to turn away from Griff and Podrick. She looked up to orientate herself and found herself staring into shocked, wildfire green eyes. Jaime stood across the road from her, visible in the crowd because of his Lannister uniform, dumbstruck as he shifted his gaze to stare at Griff. Brienne closed her eyes briefly at seeing the ashen color and disbelieving expression on Jaime’s face. 

She hadn’t considered what it would do to Jaime to see the living image of Rhaegar Targaryen. Unlike most, Jaime had known Rhaegar personally and had even interacted with him. In fact, he’d last seen Rhaegar before he went into battle at the Trident. Rhaegar had died at Robert’s hand, then Aerys had died at Jaime’s hand. Worse, Elia and Rhaenys had died on Tywin’s orders while Jaime has sat on the Iron Throne, unaware of their brutal deaths. 

She knew the instant Griff saw Jaime, felt the tightening of his body beside her, heard his harsh indrawn breath. Griff used his right hand to reach into the sleeve of his left arm. Brienne knew what he intended to do and grabbed his hand in both of hers. Griff looked at her, the rage and bloodlust darkening his indigo eyes to almost black, but didn’t try to break free from her.

“My Lady Ser?” Podrick questioned. “What is it?”

His eyes grew wide when he saw the knife sheath exposed on Griff’s left forearm. Brienne had Griff’s throwing hand in both of hers but he was fast enough and strong enough to break her grip if he wanted to. He could send the blade into Jaime’s gut before anyone had time to draw breath, let alone draw a weapon against him. 

But then no one, not even Bronn, would draw a sword against a man protected by dragons. Griff could just as easily walk across the road and casually slice open Jaime’s throat as he could throw the blade. Jaime would bleed out in the dirt with no one, but Brienne, willing to protest or defend him. She turned back to Griff.

“You are the King of the Seven Kingdoms.” Brienne’s quiet voice, pitched low to avoid being overheard, was half insisting, half pleading. “You cannot begin your reign by killing a man without provocation.”

“He sat on my grandfather’s blood-soaked throne while his father’s dog tortured and murdered my mother and sister,” Griff snarled. “That’s enough to provoke any man to kill him.”

“Their deaths are among his greatest regrets,” Brienne insisted. “You are a just king. You must not put your own emotions before the needs of your people.”

Griff turned to stare at her. Under the fringe of unfamiliar Targaryen silver-blond hair, his now clearly purple eyes were as cold and as hard as she’d only seen once before. He’d displayed the same snarling anger when he’d confronted her about the impulsive stupidity of jumping onto the burning pirate ship. Fortunately, like that time, his rage didn’t control him. 

“We have him,” Podrick chimed in, still eyeing the blades. “Gregor Clegane, we have him in the black cells.”

Griff became even more rigid but he looked away from Brienne to stare at Podrick. Podrick tore his gaze away from the wrist sheath to nod solemnly.

“He’s alive?’ Griff asked softly.

Podrick hesitated. “I’m not sure. His body moves but he has no free will.”

Griff looked back to Brienne, his eyebrows raised, as if silently asking for more information. The dangerous darkness began to fade from his eyes. She slowly released his hand and stepped away. Griff shook his left arm to shift the material, allowing it to fall back over his wrist and hide the blades. He didn’t look towards Jaime again. 

“We need to talk,” Griff said, glancing at the crowd again. “Your scrolls left out a great many details. I need to know exactly what’s been going on here.”

Brienne nodded eagerly. She needed to separate Griff and Jaime until she could be sure the king wouldn’t kill the man who was the reason she still lived. Plus, there was so much Griff didn’t know about. Her most recent carefully worded scrolls would not have reached him. He was unaware of the threat of the horn, Cersei’s breakdown, Qyburn’s connection to her mother’s family, Tyrion’s plotting, the march to Harrenhall or the regathering Lannister army. War was coming at them from all sides. They could not allow their own grievances to tear them apart. Griff, of all people, needed to be calm and level-headed. She needed him to be their leader and make sense of madness surrounding them. 

She turned down River Row to begin the walk back to the Red Keep. Her long legs covered ground quickly but Griff caught up with her in only a few strides. The dragons squawked as they took to the air above their heads. Podrick was only a few steps behind then, his shorter legs working at twice their speed to keep up with them.

The crowd parted as they approached, then closed behind them as they passed. Because whispers flew on wings as fast as dragons, the names ‘Rhaegar’ and ‘Aegon’ were on everyone’s lips as they passed. Unlike her blind, terrified run to the King’s Gate, the trip back to the castle was measured and sedate. As usual, people made way for Brienne, and the dragons over her head. 

She noticed the people were calmer now, less frightened by the dragons. They had seen one Targaryen, with dragons at her back, free them from Cersei’s madness. Another Targaryen marched with the King in the North, vowing to protect all of Westeros from a threat they didn’t understand. Now a third Targaryen, the living image of the Prince of Dragonstone, had also come to King’s Landing. Griff’s startling resemblance to his father made his identity apparent to all. More citizen bowed than ever before, looking at Griff more than the dragons.

Griff seemed unaware of their reverence, his gaze sweeping over the dirty streets, neglected courtyards, ramshackle vendor stalls and the tired masses of people in the capital city. The ports of Essos had also been crowded and worn, but not as dirty or neglected as King’s Landing. His mouth tightened as he surveyed what had become of the city his ancestors had built up from a simple fort to the capital of Seven Kingdoms.

“The city’s a mess and it smells disgusting,” he noted. “Half the people are visibly sick and weakened.”

Brienne shuddered, thinking of Ela and the orphans. The babies were with the maester now, but all of Westeros was in desperate need. The people were still hungry, still living in shanties and still without the help they needed. Even worse, the dead would soon march on the living, perhaps forcing many of the living to succumb to the Army of the Dead.

She sighed. “There hasn’t been enough stability in the kingdom to focus on city planning. War has forced the people to crowd into the capital for some protection. It wasn’t built to hold this many people. There isn’t enough food to feed the people, let alone coin to clean sewers or repair damage from the last attack.”

“The Lannisters were more interested in waging wars than in caring for the people,” Griff concluded. “How have they managed to stay in power for so long?”

“Most of those who fought the Lannisters are dead,” Brienne reminded him. “Whole houses have been wiped out while the Riverlands still seep blood.”

“Now the Lannisters have also fallen.” Griff didn’t bother to hide the pleasure in his voice. “By a single agent, acting alone?”

“He wasn’t working alone,” Podrick explained. “Lord Qyburn was able to twist Cersei Lannister to do his work for him.”

“An intelligent and resourceful man,” Griff praised. “I’d like to meet him.”

“He marched with the forces going north,” Podrick explained. “He thinks he can help them in the battle against the Army of the Dead.”

“Lord Qyburn is loyal to the Starks,” Brienne cautioned. “He’s sworn himself to Jon Snow, the King in the North.”

“The Bastard of Winterfell,” Griff said thoughtfully, “who went from being a lesser son to Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch then the King in the North. Quite a lofty rise from bastard to king.”

“It’s not so different than your own,” Podrick suggested. “From a carefully hidden war survivor to secret Commander of the _Golden Company_ to the King of Westeros. I think you and King Jon have a lot in common.”

“Perhaps,” Griff agreed.

The walk to the Red Keep took three times longer than her terrified run. The slower pace allowed citizens to come out of their homes and shops, to hang out of windows or peer over rooftops, to witness the return of their true king. The dragons flew over their heads, squawking occasionally but mostly silent in their guard duties. Their formation so tight and their actions synchronized, it was almost as if they were on show.

“Sȳrī gaomagon, zaldrīzoti,” Griff grinned as he called up to them. 

Brienne’s heart fluttered as she realized the dragons _were_ showing off for Griff. They were so brave and loyal, she sometimes forgot how young the five were. They hadn’t been in the world for even eight months yet. Griff had taught them how to guard. It must have taken him months of patience and repetition to teach them so well. They’d spent hours practicing to be able to act with the same polished teamwork as their father’s men. No child, especially after an absence from their beloved parent, could resist the opportunity to demonstrate how well they remembered his teachings, to earn their father’s admiration and praise.

They faced no resistance as they passed through the gates of the Red Keep. The Lannister guards stepped back and crossed their arms behind their backs, making it clear they had no intention of drawing their swords. Nobles, citizens, servants and guards watched silently as Griff crossed the courtyard. He led their group, as the dragons flew overhead, to mount the steps into the castle that was the seat of the Seven Kingdom’s power, and had been since his ancestors had first conquered Westeros. Without direction, Griff turned for the Throne Room. 

“Do you know where you’re going?” Brienne asked softly.

Griff nodded. “I know every inch of this fortress, every hidden alcove, every back staircase and every supposedly secret passage. I’ve had spies here from even before I was smuggled out of the city.”

Brienne glanced at Podrick as they silently followed Griff. That made sense. Those who had protected Griff, who’d smuggled him out before the sacking of King’s Landing, had kept faith with their king. They’d saved him, they’d hidden him and they kept him informed of the events in Westeros. Griff had to be current on the events in Westeros to eventually take his place as the King of the Seven Kingdoms. 

While Griff had known what was occurring in Westeros, he hadn’t been able to act until he had an army, gold and passage across the Narrow Sea. Cersei had unwittingly provided Griff with the gold and the naval force to bring his army to Westeros. The Westerosi armies were weakened and weary from fighting the War of the Five Kings, Cersei’s march to crush the Tyrells, the Stark’s battle to retake Winterfell and Daenerys’s assault on the Gold Road. Griff’s men were wealthy, strong and well-prepared, fresh and eager to reclaim the titles and keeps their ancestors had lost. 

In a different time, the people may have protested, perhaps even risen up against the Targaryens. But now the kingdom was starved and scarred by war and facing a new, barely comprehensible threat. Many important holdings were unproductive without leadership, further weakening already unstable lands. Few had the energy, the men or the desire to go against rulers who commanded dragons. Not only did Griff have dragons, Brienne acknowledged with a heavy heart, he also had her. She, whom Daenerys had so proudly claimed as kin, was sworn to the man who would take away the kingdom the Dragon Queen had barely had a chance to rule.

Griff was a good man and would be a just king. He understood a kingdom was only as strong as its people. He’d noted immediately the capital was in disrepair and the people in desperate need. Walls and gates could hold out opposing armies but they couldn’t hold in resentment, sickness or starvation. In centuries past, the anger of the people had even led them to kill the dragons trapped in the Dragonpit. Now despair and fear of an unstoppable army beyond the Wall kept them huddled together, waiting for another war they didn’t want or understand. The people desperately looked for hope and reassurance from the blond-haired dragons.

“Aegon Martell Targaryen, I presume?” Tyrion’s voice rang out in the silent, empty passageway. 

He was standing near the main doors leading into the Throne Room. He wore Daenerys’s Hand of the Queen pin on his jacket and a serious, cautious expression on his face.

Griff stopped to study him. “Tyrion Lannister.”

Brienne and Podrick stopped a few paces behind him. The dragons came down around them, quiet and alert. They were far enough away that the Hand was out of the dragons’ fire range. Tyrion looked at dragons then relaxed when they turned to face outward, not threatened by the youngest lion. He looked back to at Griff.

“I thought you were Rheagar when I saw you fighting stone men on that hill in Valyria.” Tyrion studied Griff with equal intensity. “But then I was only six years old the last time I saw your father.” 

Griff’s expression hardened. “I was only six _months_ old the last time I saw my father. Then your family proceeded to kill him, my grandfather, my mother, my sister, my cousin and my uncles.”

Tyrion winced. “And yet you still saved my life in Valyria. Why?”

“Daenerys is one of the few remaining family members I still have left. I knew you were being taken to help her rule Meereen. I’d heard you were smart and capable.” Griff paused. “But those were just more Lannister lies. You failed miserably.” 

“He didn’t fail,” Brienne corrected. “He deliberately gave Daenerys bad advice so she’d abandon Essos. He wanted her to bring fire and blood to King’s Landing.”

“Once a Lannister, always a Lannister,” Griff noted.

His mouth curled into a slight smile that no one, other than those who knew him, would notice. Brienne knew Griff and she had noticed. Her heart began to pound. Had he known, or at least suspected, Tyrion’s true nature? Had Griff _wanted_ Daenerys to attack King’s Landing? Could Griff be so devious as to want his aunt to destroy the capital so he could swoop in to save the kingdom from another insane, pure-blood Targaryen?

Tyrion bowed his head. “I regret my actions and have apologized to my brother and my friends for the harm I’ve caused.”

Griff raised his eyebrow. “Did you apologize to the people of the former slave cities? Many of them die daily as warlords and mercenaries attack. They know her men and her people are vulnerable now that their Queen has abandoned them for Westeros.”

“She hasn’t abandoned them,” Tyrion insisted. “Once the threat is handled here in Westeros, she’ll return to the Bay of Dragons to fight for her people there, too.”

Now Griff’s smile was evident. “Is that when you plan to install Brienne as your puppet queen?” 

Brienne gasped. “How did you know about that? He only approached me this morning.”

“He’s a Lannister,” Griff said. “They’ve always thirsted for power and hungered for the Iron Throne. Tyrion knows no one will accept him as king, not after his sister’s debacle. He also knows his brother is as ill-suited for the throne as his twin. That means the Lord Hand can only keep and grow his power by manipulating the kind and honorable keeper of the Gods’ dragons.”

Brienne snorted. “I might be kind and I am honorable, but I’m no fool. I will not sit by and allow others to manipulate me.”

“Are you sure about that?” Tyrion questioned quietly. “It seems you’ve allowed yourself to be manipulated by this man. How are you even sure he really is Aegon Targaryen?”

The dragons straightened alertly and hissed softly. Brienne looked over her shoulder. She wasn’t surprised to see Jaime and Bronn come to join them. The dragons looked at Jaime then at Griff, as if waiting for him to instruct them. Griff knelt between Catren and Gallan, the dragons closest to him, and stroked their long necks. Both dragons turned to him, growling low in their throats, almost purring at the pleasure of his touch. Both pressed their heads against his shoulders, then rubbed their heads against his hair, children content in their father’s arms.

“Does that answer your question, Lord Tyrion?” Griff asked. From his kneeling position, Griff was almost at eye level with the Hand to the Queen.

Tyrion cleared his throat. “The dragons adore Podrick as well. Does that make him a Targaryen, too?”

“No.” It was Jaime who answered. “It means he’s bonded to Brienne. She said the dragons bond to those who love her above all others and will die for her. She told us she has three bonds; her father, her squire and—”

Jaime stopped abruptly, his eyes widening as the truth hit him. Griff rose back to his full height, now taller than them all, including Brienne. Tyrion looked at Catren and Allwyn, still pressed against Griff’s legs. The dragons looked back at him calmly, as if daring him to challenge them.

“You said you were loyal to Jon Snow but you’re bonded to Aegon Targaryen.” Tyrion spoke slowly, trying to work out the details as he spoke. “If Jon is your king then Aegon is your—"

The dragons growled. Tyrion stopped and looked at the dragons, wide-eyed. They, even Catren and Allwyn, raised their heads to stare at the Hand. Griff’s lips pressed into a thin line and he glared at Tyrion, his hands curled into fists. The dragons had picked up on his spiking emotions and tensed.

“I didn’t say Jon Snow was my king,” Brienne corrected quietly. “He never asked me to declare myself. He just thanked me for my faith in him. And I…I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

Tyrion narrowed his eyes and took a step back. “Qyburn did the same thing with my sister. She never asked him to declare himself. She never understood he was using her to bring down House Lannister. He twisted her until she’d destroyed everything we had, everyone we loved.”

“She’s a Lannister. They’re already twisted, even you, imp,” Griff insisted. “Or don’t you consider all your deliberate bad counsel to my aunt to be twisted?” 

Tyrion had the grace to flush. “I admitted to my mistakes and I’m working to atone for them.”

“Atone?” Griff laughed harshly. “How do you atone for the deaths and suffering of hundreds of innocent people in the former slave cities? How do you atone for the deaths of hundreds of Lannister soldiers and dozens of bloodriders on the Gold Road? What do Lannisters know about atoning for the bloodshed and suffering they cause?”

“We’re learning,” Jaime said quietly. He looked older, his face pale, his mouth pulling down at the corners and his shoulders dropping. “We’ve lost our home, our family, our wealth and our reputation. All we have left now is the three of us.”

“That’s three too many.” Griff raised his arm, allowing the sleeve to fall, revealing the sheath on his forearm. “I can fix that in seconds. You’re too old and slow to stop me, Kingslayer. I can cut your throat open before you even pull out your sword.”

“No!” Brienne cried. 

She pivoted so she was facing Griff, Jaime safely hidden behind her body. The dragons cried out and looked from Brienne to Griff. Ardayn and Serdun shifted closer to Brienne while Catren and Allwyn stayed close to Griff. Gallan looked from one to the other until Podrick pulled the blue dragon to his side. Bronn and Tyrion also looked between the two, but wisely stayed silent.

Jaime deliberately moved away from Brienne’s protection. He looked down at Ardayn. The silver blue dragon was close enough to touch but made no move against the older lion. Jaime looked back up at Griff as he extended his arms, holding them out from his body. He wore his Lannister uniform but his neck was bare. _Widow’s Wail_ hung from his belt but they all knew he wouldn’t reach it before Griff got to him.

“You want to kill me? Will that give you comfort for the deaths of your family?” Jaime asked. 

Griff sneered. “No, no comfort but it will give me satisfaction. The satisfaction of knowing I spilled Lannister blood, like how you spilled Targaryen blood.”

“Like how I spilled Targaryen blood?” Jaime shrugged, arms still extended. “Then you have to give me a minute to remove my armor and turn around. I stabbed Mad King Aerys in the back.”

Griff hissed again. Brienne glared at him then glared at Jaime. She knew Jaime became sarcastic and insulting as a defense to hide his deeper emotions. He’d done what was necessary to save the capital but lost his honor in the process. That shame and the unfairness of his false reputation was a heavy weight on his soul. All of King’s Landing would have burned if he hadn’t acted. Aerys had to be stopped. Griff had understood Jaime’s reasons when they had discussed it before.

“I don’t care about Aerys,” Griff snarled. “I care about my mother and my sister. You just sat there while your father’s dog tore them apart.”

The harsh bravado faded and Jaime seemed to collapse into himself. His face went slack, his head fell forward, his arms dropped and his knees bowed while his shoulders drooped. It was almost as if Griff’s words were a weight too heavy for Jaime to bear. Jaime shook his head then looked up, his mouth twisting. 

“If taking my life would have brought back Princesses Elia or Rhaenys, I would have gladly given it, even then,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know what had happened to them. I never thought my father would hurt them.”

Griff laughed harshly. “You never thought your father would hurt them? Your father hurt half this kingdom, destroying family after family, even before he ordered the sacking of King’s Landing and the assault against the North. Tywin Lannister was as mad as Aerys. He deserved a far more brutal death than your imp brother’s bolt in his chest. He should have been torn apart and had his head smashed, just like my mother.”

“Fine.” Jaime nodded. “Then do it. Kill me by whatever means you want. Line up a hundred of your men, even a hundred of my men, to do the deed. Then maybe Rhaegar and his accusations will stop haunting my nightmares.”

Brienne frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

“To this day, Rhaegar comes to me in my dreams, as do Ser Arthur Dayne and my other dead Kingsguard brothers,” Jaime explained, his voice ragged. “Rhaegar reminds me his last request was to keep his wife and children safe. I _am_ the Kingslayer. I killed Aerys to save this city but I destroyed myself in the process. So, take your revenge, son of Rhaegar, and I’ll start my journey into the Seven Hells.” 

“No, you won’t,” Brienne insisted. “Please, both of you, think this through.”

“It’s alright, Brienne,” Jaime gently touched her shoulder in a comforting gesture. “Maybe this world will be better without the Kingslayer, the man without honor.”

Griff hissed, sounding remarkably like the dragons, at the sight. Brienne glanced at Jaime’s hand then at his haunted face.

“No, it’s not alright, Ser Jaime ,” she insisted. “There is honor in you. You’ve shown it to me, _for_ me. I’m alive because of it. The Gods have seen your honor, too. You have an important role to play in the Great War to come. I will not allow you, either of you,” she looked from one to the other, “to take a chosen warrior away from the Gods.”

Brienne paused for a moment but neither spoke or moved. She shifted out from Jaime’s hand and stepped closer to Griff. Griff was still staring at Jaime, burning hatred apparent in his fiery eyes, pinched nostrils and twisted mouth. She grabbed his shoulders, tempted to shake sense into him. 

“You promised me the people would no longer have to endure mad, cruel or incompetent rulers,” Brienne reminded him. “You said they’d soon have a king who would put the people first. That’s why I pledged my sword to you.” 

Griff finally looked away from Jaime to meet her gaze. The rage in his eyes eased and the color lightened back to indigo. Jaime dropped his head again while Tyrion and Bronn exchanged worried glances. Podrick remained crouched with Gallan as his side, both quiet and still as they watched the tense confrontation. Brienne stepped closer to Griff, close enough to feel his breath on her cheek.

“Westeros needs a competent king who puts the people first,” Brienne continued. “You promised me you were that king. We’re about to face a threat greater than any we’ve ever faced, an enemy who doesn’t tire and has an inexhaustible army. The Gods have demanded Ser Jaime as a warrior in this war. You cannot put your personal grievances ahead of the survival of your people.”

Griff closed his eyes and took a deep breath, regaining his self-control. Brienne glanced down at Podrick who smiled at her in encouragement. Jamie was quiet and still, drawn into himself, back in the place of self-loathing and despair where his ghosts continued to haunt him. Bronn watched them carefully, but as an observer, a man without a personal stake in the outcome. Tyrion looked from Brienne to Griff and back again, his eyes blinking rapidly. Brienne could almost see him factoring this new information into his schemes and calculations.

“Thank you, Brienne,” Griff said quietly, drawing her attention back to him. “You’re right. My personal feelings cannot come before the needs of the people.” He smiled and leaned forward, so he could press his forehead into hers and look directly into her eyes. “That’s why I need you at my side. A king sometimes has to be reminded of his duty.”

“Not just kings.” She stepped back smartly. “Most men claim women have weak temperaments and cannot control themselves. Yet more men have died from their tempers and confrontations with other men than women have from other women’s weak constitutions.”

“Just so,” Griff agreed. “Fortunately, I’m smart enough to have a strong woman at my side. You’re right. We have to put our personal difference aside. There are too many threats facing the kingdom. We have no time to squabble amongst ourselves while those who stand against us grow stronger and bolder.”

Griff nodded and abruptly turned around. He marched past Tyrion to open the doors to the throne room. Brienne raised her hand to remind him the Iron Throne was now a mass of melted metal. Griff had only taken a step into the hall before he froze, his body going rigid. He whirled around to glare at Jaime and Tyrion.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded through clenched teeth.

“The dragons melted the Iron Throne,” Brienne explained. “There were Valyrian steel weapons used to make it. We need them for the battle against the Army of the Dead.”

“I know the dragons melted the throne,” Griff agreed. “I asking about the monstrosity above the throne.” 

“The dragon’s fire melted the glass in the windows,” Podrick explained. “That’s why the Throne Room is closed, so the glass workers can restore the stars.”

Griff’s face flushed with color. “No, there’s no star.”

Brienne looked at Podrick who rose and hurried to her side. Tyrion frowned and looked to Bronn and Jaime. Bronn shrugged while Jaime remained lost inside himself. Brienne crossed to the doors in two large strides, Podrick at her heels and the dragons rising above her. She looked down the enormous, silent hall and gasped in horror. 

The room was glowing with the midday sunlight streaming through the windows. The last time she’d been in the Throne Room was when the dragons’ fire had freed the Valyrian steel swords. The stained-glass windows had been so damaged by the flames, Daenerys had ordered the hall closed and off limits until the windows were repaired. The smaller windows now shone again, the glass once again clear seven-point stars, the symbol of the Faith of the Seven. The walls were scrubbed clean of the red glass that had run down like streaks of blood. 

The center round window, the enormous centerpiece that had cast the reflection that made the Valyrian steel swords shine blood-red, had been removed. The seven-pointed star that had held the place of honor, shining bold and bright above the mangled remains of the Iron Throne, was no longer there.

It had been replaced by the roaring lion symbol of House Lannister.


	32. Peace Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She believed he was the true king because she wanted to believe it. Nothing he’d said, nothing he’d done, even having the blood of the dragon, was proof of his claim.

### Chapter 32: Peace Keeper

Brienne continued to stare at the roaring lion symbol that had replaced the seven-pointed star in the stained-glass window. The Lannister lion was set in molten yellow that looked almost gold in the sunlight. Defiant and bold, the lion cast a shadow that reflected over the melted mass of the Iron Throne. She stumbled forward, closer to the abomination, unable to accept what she was seeing.

Griff, Podrick and the dragons were not caught in her shocked horror. Griff strode to her side, taking her arm to halt her. He looked past her continuing to glare at Tyrion and Jaime. Podrick came obediently to her other side, focused on her instead of the Lannisters. The dragons landed around them. The five looked around alertly, searching for possible threats in the enormous, empty hall.

“This…this is blasphemy,” Brienne gasped. “How dare you replace a symbol of the Gods with the sigil of a house?”

“Perhaps, Lord Hand,” Griff spoke through clenched teeth, “you should have waited a bit longer before you decided to replace the Gods with the Lannisters.”

Tyrion’s eyes widened and he shook his head vigorously. “I didn’t do this!”

“No?” Griff sneered. “You’re already planning to replace your queen and rule Westeros from behind the throne. Who else would do this?”

“I can name a suspect,” a voice called from the doors.

They all turned to the newcomer. Bronn, standing just inside the doors, moved aside. Varys slid into the room, as silent and observant as the spider that was his nickname. The former Master of Whispers looked from Tyrion to Griff, his hands pressed together as they often were. His eyes widened as he studied the man with Targaryen silver-blond hair and purple eyes. Varys looked back to Tyrion, his brows furrowed.

Tyrion cleared his throat. “He claims he’s Aegon Targaryen, the supposedly dead son of Rhaegar and Elia Martell.” Tyrion looked side-eyed at Griff. “But he presents no proof.”

“Prince Aegon was supposed to have died, along with his mother and sister, during the sacking of King’s Landing,” Varys reminded him, gliding closer to join them. “Lord Tywin presented the bodies and Ser Gregor admitted to the deed.”

“I’m sure this will come as a shock to you but Gregor lied,” Griff said. “My agents removed me from my crib when the Lannister forces came to the gates. When Gregor realized I wasn’t there, he knew Tywin would have him executed, no matter how successful he was at killing my mother and sister. He took another helpless babe, beat his head mercilessly until he was unrecognizable, then presented him to the demon he called his lord.”

“A convenient story,” Tyrion pointed out mildly.

“And one easily proved. You have Gregor in the black cells. Present him to me and judge by his reaction,” Griff suggested.

“He might not react,” Podrick caution. “He was gravely wounded in battle against your Uncle Oberyn. They say Ser Gregor screamed in agony for days after. Now he’s more creature than human.”

“It’s no less than he deserved.” Griff eyes narrowed. “It’s a pity Tywin Lannister died with so little pain. He should have suffered a great deal more.”

“He was my father,” Jaime hissed. “Whatever you may think of him, he was the reason King’s Landing survived for so long under Aerys’s madness.”

“He’s also the reason why so many suffered after Aerys’s death, including your own brother,” Griff reminded viciously. “Would he have been forced to flee to Essos if your father and sister didn’t want him dead?”

Jaime stared at Griff, at a loss for words to defend his father or sister. Brienne winced as Jaime’s pain and regret reverberated in her heart. No matter how hard he tried, Jaime couldn’t justify his father’s actions. Tywin Lannister’s crimes against House Targaryen, and even his own son, were too great to overcome.

Tyrion sighed and touched his brother’s hand. “Jaime, the past cannot be changed. We can only go forward. The kingdom is facing a threat beyond any we’ve known before. We cannot allow this imposter to distract us.”

“I’m not an imposter.” Griff’s voice was low and steady, firm with his conviction.

“You may believe you’re Aegon, but your word isn’t proof.” Varys’s tone was a calm and steady as Griff’s. “Simply having Targaryen coloring doesn’t make you a dragon.”

Griff glanced over at Brienne. This was the same point she’d made that night on the _Sea Keeper_. She believed he was the true king because she wanted to believe it. Nothing he’d said, nothing he’d done, even having the blood of the dragon, was proof of his claim. She knew in her heart Griff was a good man and would be a just king. Still, Varys was right. Knowledge wasn’t proof.

“I don’t need proof,” Griff insisted. “I’m the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. I’m here because Westeros needs me. It’s my duty to protect the people.”

“The people are already being protected,” Varys insisted. “Even now, Queen Daenerys marches with the King in the North to defend her people.”

“What good is marching to face an enemy if she can’t trust those she left behind to manage in her stead?” Griff questioned. “She put the kingdom in the hands of incompetent men who think themselves kingmakers, or in this case, queenmakers.”

“We’re not incompetent,’ Tyrion defended himself. “We’re thinking about the future of the realm and how to best retain our queen’s legacy.”

“Really?” Griff raised his brows in a gesture strikingly similar to Daenerys. “Was that what you were doing when you decided to negotiate with slavers in Meereen?”

“The city was almost at war. I was trying to ease the tension.” Tyrion insisted. “Regardless, I don’t owe you any explanations.”

“No? If not me, how will you explain your actions to your queen?” Griff asked. “Does she know you deliberately give her false council to bring her to Westeros? Does she know you’ve already chosen her successor?  Does she know you’ve already started…” Griff paused to glance at the stained-glass window, “to arrange the Red Keep to your liking?”

“I didn’t!” Tyrion insisted. “I didn’t know about the window.”

“You’re Hand to the Queen. It’s your job to know about those things that undermine her rule.” Griff’s voice was so light, it was almost taunting. “Replacing the symbol of the Gods with the sigil of House Lannister is another example of you undermining your queen.”

Tyrion flushed very red. Jaime stepped in front of his brother, his hand curled into a fist. Griff glanced at Jaime then looked away, clearly unimpressed. The gesture was greater than words, that Griff dismissed Jaime as unimportant. Brienne felt her own temper ignite. Griff was wrong for treating the brothers as he did. Jaime was a good man and a warrior of the Gods. Protecting his brother was a natural instinct for Jaime.

Tyrion had made mistakes but his heart was good, too. He’d reacted instantly to help her with the orphans and had readily admitted his mistakes. He wasn’t stupid nor was he cruel. There was no reason for Tyrion to do something like this. He knew how much many people, including Brienne, valued the Gods. Actions like this would immediately shroud the Hand to the Queen’s every action in doubt and contempt.

No, this act was both petty and arrogant. Replacing the window was only a small matter without lasting harm. A good glass maker would easily change the window in a day or two. Even the risk of insulting or angering the people was mitigated. The Throne Room was still closed so very few had seen the Lannister sigil. Tyrion was too smart to risk alienating the very people he was here to rule. No, a bold person did this, one with connections within the city, who held himself above all, including the Gods.

A person like…

“I believe it was Cersei,” Varys explained. “My little birds told me about the sigil almost as soon as the glass was fitted yesterday. I had them find out who ordered the sigil be created.”

“Little birds?” Griff repeated.

“That’s his network of spies,” Podrick explained. “They’re mostly children who work in the castle and the city.”

“It can’t be Cersei,” Jaime argued. “She’s been locked up in her rooms, devastated by what that sniveling ex-maester did to her and to us.”

“Devastated?” Tyrion repeated, eyes widening. “When has our sister ever been devastated?”

“She lost everything, including her children, because of that man,” Jaime hissed. “He poisoned her and made her do things she would never have done without his provocation.”

Tyrion stared at his brother, his mouth working but unable to form words. The Hand’s face flushed red as he clenched his fists. For a moment he nearly vibrated with rage before regaining control of himself. Tyrion took a deep breath and shook his head.

“Jaime, when will you see who she really is?” Tyrion’s voice was so controlled, it was flat. “She wasn’t poisoned when Joffery died, was she? She should have been devastated then but she still had the mind to set up false witnesses against me. She plotted my death!”

Jaime shook his head, as if denying his brother’s words. “No, we agreed you’d take the black. _You_ demanded the trial by combat.”

“I was innocent of the crime! Do you really think I would have lived to make it to Castle Black, Jaime?” Tyrion demanded, his voice rising. “Father and Cersei have been looking for an excuse to kill me since the day I was born.”

Jaime stared at his brother, speechless. The agony in his eyes pierced Brienne’s heart. Jaime lived for his family and would have willingly died for them. But the Gods had spared him after events that would have killed other men. They needed him to live to fight in the Great War. Living wasn’t always easy. For Jaime, it was a terrible burden, his soul weighed down with regrets, pain and loss.

“Lord Varys, how could it possibly be Cersei?” Brienne asked. “She was locked in her chambers at all times.”

Varys hesitated, exchanging meaningful glances with Tyrion. Tyrion’s eyebrows rose and Varys nodded. They both looked grim over their silent communication. Then they both looked at Jaime with sympathy. Finally, Varys sighed and turned to Brienne.

“What?” Jaime demanded. “What is it? What are you hiding from me?”

“There are still those who are loyal to her,” Varys explained, “especially now that they no longer need to hide their alliances.”

“What happened?” Tyrion asked. “Who did this?”

Varys tucked his hands into the opposite sleeves, tightening his arms around himself. “Two men wearing robes and hoods beat the glass maker’s son and threatened to assault his daughter.  The poor man labored day and night to prepare the glass.”

“Do you have any idea who those men were?” Griff demanded.

Again, Varys glanced at Jaime then looked at Tyrion. The Spider raised his eyebrows, as if asking the Hand for permission to reveal what he knew. The younger Lannister nodded gravely. Varys sighed heavily but nodded back.

“My little birds report they saw white cloaks and white armor beneath their robes,” Varys reported.

“Queensguard? How is that possible? They were dismissed only yesterday afternoon,” Brienne protested. “They had bent the knee to Daenerys. Why would they do what Cersei wanted? And how did they even reach her?”

Varys sighed again. “My little birds are never wrong, my Lady Ser. The quality may not see them but they see everything.”

Tyrion sighed, too. “Ser Osmond?”

“Their descriptions matched Ser Osmond and Ser Preston,” Varys confirmed. “My little birds have seen them terrorizing the smallfolk for Cersei in the past.”

“No,” Jaime denied. “That’s not true. Why would the White Cloaks continue to follow Cersei if they’ve already pledged themselves to Daenerys?”

“They wouldn’t be the first White Cloaks to betray their vows,” Griff noted, his voice sharp. “They had you to lead them.”

“Cersei is my twin, we were born together,” Jaime reminded them. “Our bond cannot be broken so easily. My cloak, no matter how soiled, wasn’t the reason the other Queensguard went astray. They don’t have my bond with Cersei.”

Jaime flushed red and clenched his teeth, making his jaw harden into a sharp line. Tyrion and Varys exchanged meaningful looks again. Varys looked at the floor while Tyrion closed his eyes. Finally, the Hand opened his eyes and turned to look at Jaime.

“Jaime, you know Cersei loves power. She considers controlling others a form of power,” he said gently. “One of the ways she controlled people is by bedding them. Ser Osmund was one of her bedmates while you were imprisoned in the North.”

For a moment, Jaime’s face was wiped clean of expression. Varys smoothed his expression to blank calmness and looked away. Jaime stared at Tyrion. Tyrion couldn’t hide his emotions as well as his friend. Sadness and sympathy created a shine in Tyrion’s eyes and pulled down the corners of his mouth. Jaime looked past him to Bronn standing just inside the doors. Bronn crossed his arms and shook his head, his expression half sympathy, half annoyance before he nodded in confirmation.

Brienne looked at Podrick, her eyes wide with question. Podrick grimaced and nodded back at her. Brienne didn’t know why the news shocked her almost as much as it shocked Jaime. Cersei had admitted to adultery, but not with Jaime, before her walk of atonement. There had to be other men whom the High Sparrow used to corroborate his accusations. But why? How could Cersei hurt Jaime in such a way, knowing he’d sacrificed his entire life for her?

Jaime seemed to be coming out of his shock, color returning into his face. His harsh breathing was evident in the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He stared at the roaring lion sigil, the symbol of his house and the family he’d given his life and honor to protect and please. His mouth twisted with disgust and his wildfire green eyes glittered like burning emeralds.

“One?” Jaime hissed. “ _One_ of her bedmates?”

“She has other…admirers, even among the household staff,” Varys explained carefully. “Those who hold her favor. They would have no trouble dressing as a maid or a guard to slip out a note to her agents.”

“You knew about this?” Jaime demanded, glaring at Tyrion. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“When should I have told you?” Tyrion challenged. “During the parlay when Euron threatened to kill me or before, in the passageways where _you_ threatened to kill me?”

“How about when I freed you from the cells and had you smuggled out of the capital?” Jaime suggested, his voice hard and angry. “You could have told me then.”

“What good would that have done, brother?” Tyrion cried. “I thought it was the last time I would ever see you. I didn’t want to spoil our last memory together by hurting you.”

“So, you choose to hurt me by killing our father, instead,” Jaime lashed out. “If Father were still alive, then Tommen and Myrcella might be alive, too. At least, if you had told me, I would have known how stupid I was for trusting Cersei. Maybe _I_ could have kept Tommen and Myrcella alive.”

Jaime’s voice broke and he stopped speaking, his lips pressed into a pale, colorless line. Tyrion’s mouth fell open as he stared at his brother. The true cost of his actions seemed to register as his face lost all color. Tears swam in both Lannisters’ eyes.

Brienne’s heart pounded. Could it have made a difference? If Jaime had known sooner about his sister’s true nature, would events have changed? She’d asked herself that same question when she’d finally understood her cave dream. She’d dreamt of the fall of House Lannister nearly five months ago. Unfortunately, she hadn’t understood until it was too late, until after Qyburn had taken his revenge on Tywin Lannister’s family.

Brienne felt heat against her legs. She looked down to see Allwyn and Gallan curling against her. The dragons were disturbed by the aching emotions surround them. If she was reacting this way, how much worse was it for the dragons? Despite being the most powerful creatures in the world, they were so emotionally sensitive, they could feel another’s sorrow deeply. She knelt down to hug them to her, trying to assure them they were safe and loved, that no one would cause them the pain Jaime and Tyrion were now experiencing.

Podrick knelt beside her, stroking Serdun’s neck with long, steady sweeps. Serdun, normally aloof and independent, pressed against her squire. Podrick smiled sadly at Brienne but remained silent. On her other side, Griff knelt with Catren and Ardayn held so close, their three heads almost pressed together. Unlike Podrick, there was no empathy in Griff’s expression. Instead, her king watched with cold disinterest, as if he was in the audience of an exceedingly dull stage play.

“I’ve heard enough.” Griff rose to his feet but still kept his hands on the dragons. “This window is an example of you underestimating your opponent, your lack of communication, your inability to secure your position or control your people and your general incompetence.”

Tyrion blinked rapidly to clear his eyes of tears. “We’ve only had two days to take charge of the city.”

“A good Hand would be ready on a moment’s notice,” Griff snapped. “I’m taking over.”

“You can’t do that!” Tyrion protested.

Griff snorted. “Who’s going to stop me? The White Cloaks you released? The Lannister guards who won’t lift a sword around the dragons? The people of King’s Landing who look to the Targaryens for leadership now that they’ve been freed from the misery of Cersei Lannister and her bastard sons’ reigns?” Griff’s brows rose in the Daenerys-like manner. “ _You_ , Lord Hand?”

Tyrion opened his mouth but no words came out. Instead, he looked from Griff to the dragons then at Brienne. Brienne rose to stand beside her king. Podrick continued to kneel with Serdun. The dragons, though still pressed close to them, also straightened. Tyrion eyes widened and the color drained from his face. He was stunned, similar to the expression on Cersei’s face when the dragons took the Iron Throne. It was the horrified realization that there was nothing he could do against the dragons.

King Aegon Targaryen stood with the most visible symbols of his claim, the dragons and his sworn sword, at his back. Further behind him was the melted remains of the throne created by the first Targaryen king. When challenged, the dragons had destroyed the throne that has been tainted by reckless rulers and reigns of madness. The symbolism was clear. Men and their armies could not stand against him.

Tyrion blinked rapidly. Beside him, Jaime was as still as stone. Varys’s expression was carefully blank but his hands tightened, almost as if he was holding himself. Bronn continued to observe them from his position near the door.

“How do you think Daenerys will take this news?” Tyrion finally found his voice. “What do you think she’ll do when she learns a usurper is trying to take her throne?”

Tyrion tried to sound threatening but was still clearly rattled by the swiftly changing events. Griff smiled, making it clear he wasn't intimidated or fooled by the Hand’s attempt to regain control of the situation.

“I imagine it’s the same reaction she’ll have when she finds out her Hand deliberately lied to her,” Griff responded easily. “How do you think she’ll react to learning so many of her people died unnecessarily, because of you?”

Tyrion exchanged grim glances with Varys. Bronn, who’d been uncharacteristically silent, stood stiffly just inside the doors. The knight’s sword hand twitched but he didn’t reach for his blade. Jaime’s eyes were still dark and haunted, indicating he’d retreated within himself.

“I’ve seen what she does to those who betray her,” Tyrion said softly. “Dragonfire is a terrible way to die.”

“Then it’s best you avoid it, Lord Tyrion,” Griff suggested. “The only way to redeem yourself in your queen’s eyes is by competently managing the kingdom. You’ve already shown you can’t do that alone. You need me to guide you.”

“You’re here to help?” Bronn spoke for the first time. “You’re not trying to take the throne from the Dragon Queen?”

Griff looked at the melted mass of the Iron Throne. “The throne isn’t much of a prize, is it? For that matter, neither is King’s Landing. This city is a mess, the people are starving and your defenses are non-existent.”

“We’ve been preparing to fight the Army of the Dead,” Tyrion hissed. “The city, the people and the defenses won’t matter if the Night King escapes the Wall.”

“Jon Snow and my aunt march to battle that enemy,” Griff replied, undisturbed by the reminder. “We need to focus on the other problems facing the kingdom. What do you consider the greatest threat?”

Brienne and Varys spoke at the same time.

“ _Dragonbinder_ ,” Brienne said.

“Dorne,” Varys said.

Griff looked from Brienne to Varys then back to Brienne. Unlike his flippant comments to Tyrion, he frowned as he considered their answers. He nodded to Brienne before looking back at the group.

“What has been done to find this horn?” Griff asked.

“We’ve been working our sources to find any whisper of _Dragonbinder_ ,” Bronn said. “I’ve been pulled into alleys and backways I never thought would be brothels. And what happens inside them was almost too much, even for me.”

Bronn shuddered visibly at the memory. Griff stared at Bronn for a moment, nonplused, his reaction almost as muted as Jaime’s. Brienne blushed despite herself. Tyrion sighed again and rubbed his forehead as if it pained him while Varys remained stoic and calm.  Podrick cleared his throat to draw Griff’s attention.

“While Ser Bronn was checking in the brothels, trying to pick up whispers from the customers, I was in the fish market,” Podrick explained. “The horn was stolen off the Greyjoy ship. I thought it likely the thief was known in the markets closest to the bay.”

“Good thinking, Podrick,” Griff complemented. “Now continue thinking. Who would have the most to gain from commanding dragons?”

“Anyone.” Podrick frowned. “Wouldn’t most people want such a power?”

“Would they?” Griff questioned.

Podrick’s mouth opened and then closed without sound. He looked over at Serdun, who he’d been unconsciously still stroking. The orange and green dragon was pressed into his side, relaxed but watchful under the squire’s hand.

“ _Dragonbinder_ wouldn’t just control these five, Pod,” Griff noted. “It could also control the big dragons. Why would someone want to control the dragons, knowing that in a few hours, they’ll regain their free will?”

Brienne frowned as she watched their exchange. She’d seen Griff use the method before. He would guide another person through his thought process, to bring them to his conclusion. He’d explained to her that the discussion strengthened his men’s abilities to logic and reason. It gave them confidence to make better decisions from his training.

Podrick thought for a moment. “But can’t the person who has _Dragonbinder_ just have another man blow the horn and take the dragons?”

“You’ve been around these dragons for many weeks, Pod. Do you consider them intelligent?” Griff asked.

“Of course,” Podrick agreed, still stroking Serdun. “In some ways, they’re even smarter than we are. They can sense emotions better than we can so they understand intent.”

“So, if someone were to take the dragons against their will, would the dragons sense that person was about to die?” Griff continued. “Before the man’s master knew it?”

“They would sense the person was in pain and suffering,” Podrick spoke slowly. Then his eyes widened. “You’re saying the dragons would sense that person was dying then attack the second his life ended.”

_“Dragons can’t be made into slaves. They’re too strong and intelligent to be broken.”_

Brienne recalled his words. Griff had told her that, in the Golden Company’s office in Tyrosh, before she’d introduced him and Tristian to the newborn dragons. Now she understood what he meant.

“Dragons aren’t meant to be slaves because their free will cannot be broken. They would find a way to attack whoever was controlling them,” Brienne concluded. “They would destroy the horn as soon as they regained autonomy.”

“So, the only way this person can continue to use the horn is if he has many men ready to blow for him,” Griff concluded. “To keep the dragons enslaved. But the dragons will never lose their free will. Eventually, they’ll win and destroy the master.”

“But that could take time,” Brienne pointed out. “Depending on how many men this master has, it could take months for the dragons to kill all of them.”

“What does this tell us about this master?” Griff prodded.

Bronn suddenly jerked, already at the conclusion Griff was trying to coax Brienne and Podrick to reason out. The knight strode over to join them, his eyes widening.

“The fucker has an army,” Bronn concluded. “Or thinks he’ll have an army, once he secures the dragons.”   

Griff studied the recently anointed knight, taking in the older man’s worn leathers and hardened attitude. Bronn held himself to his full height, as if knowing he was being judged. Griff glanced at Podrick, who finally stood up from Serdun’s side.

“This is Ser Bronn of the Blackwater,” Podrick explained. “He’s been helping us search for _Dragonbinder_.”

Griff turned back to Bronn. “Have you been knighted long, Ser Bronn?”

“Long enough,” Bronn said easily.

“I ask because you seem to be a man of common sense,” Griff said mildly. “That appears to be in short supply among these so-called leaders.”

“I learned from growing up in alleys,” Bronn snorted. “Not from septas or maesters.”

“Then let’s test your knowledge,” Griff suggested. “Daenerys already controls dragons and Jon Snow marches at her side. Neither of them needs to engage an army to blow a horn.” Griff pause. “So, who has an army or needs an army to control dragons? Who marches on the capital as we speak?”

A shock went through the group. The dragons stood up straight, hissing as they looked around for the source of the sudden emotional spike. The humans all looked at Griff, even Jaime, their eyes widening as they all understood Griff’s reasoning.

“Dorne,” Varys whispered. “Whoever controls the dragons can become the new Prince of Dorne. He’ll have the loyalty of the Dornish armies once he has that power. Thousands would willingly die to take revenge on those they hold responsible for the deaths of the Martell family.”

“Manfrey Martell.” Tyrion’s face drained of color. “That’s why, after weeks of trying to reach someone in Dorne, the castellan of Sunspear reached out to _us_.”

“What does he want?” Griff demanded.

“He wants a parlay in Dorne,” Tyrion explained.

“No,” Griff answered immediately, his eyes narrowing. “That will not happen.”

“The Dornish are marching against us,” Jaime reminded him. “We have a plan to parlay to stop the march.”

“Is this a Lannister plan? Usually, Lannisters prefer to pay others instead of doing the work themselves,” Griff snorted.

Bronn shrugged. “Free trade makes the world a better place.”

“I won’t follow a Lannister’s plan,” Griff insisted. “That way lies ruin.”

“You don’t even know the plan,” Jaime protested.

“If it’s made by you, it’ll be the same as usual,” Griff sneered. “Your last plan was to arm and armor Brienne, then send her off to risk her life while you stayed behind to fuck your sister. Is the new plan about the same?”

Jaime flushed and took a step back, as if Griff’s words were a physical blow. He looked at Brienne before his gaze fell to the floor.

“It wasn’t like that,” Brienne gasped. “I would have gone anyway. I was sworn to Lady Catelyn. It was an honor to fulfill our vow to return Lady Sansa to her brother.”

She stood tall and proud, sure in her conviction that she’d acted honorably. The disgust melted from Griff’s expression as he looked at her. His eyes softened and the corners of his mouth curved into a faint smile as he reached out to touch her cheek.

“And you succeeded magnificently,” Griff agreed. “You were honorable and you fulfilled your vow. You’re one of the greatest knights Westeros will ever know.”

Brienne kept her composure but the place inside of her that shrank away from praise, expecting insults in every comment, softened. The constant warmth and acceptance from Podrick, Griff, Sansa, Jon, Daenerys and Missandei had gradually broken down the scarred tissue. Praise from the people she knew and trusted to treat her with honesty and respect were a balm to that damaged part of her soul.

“Still, you came to Essos with Lannister gold and a Lannister sword.” Griff’s hand dropped and his expression hardened again. “While he stayed in King’s Landing, openly bedding his sister when he wasn’t marching against the Blackfish or the Tyrells. Now, he’ll send you to Dorne, where you’ll face the Dornish army and their history of attacking from the shadows, while he returns to the comfort of his sister’s bed. Isn’t that his plan?”

Jaime’s face flushed deeper red and he stepped forward. Catren and Ardayn, still at Griff’s side, hissed in warning. Jaime stopped and looked down at them. Brienne was silent, unsure of what to say to ease the increased tension. She didn’t know if Jaime was still bedding his sister. Cersei wasn’t allowed to leave her rooms but no one would stop Jaime if he went to her.

Bronn cleared his throat. “I’m not sure Cersei’s bed is all that comfortable for him, seeing as he’s now supporting the woman who overthrew her.”

“Bronn,” Tyrion hissed. “Shut up.”

Bronn shrugged but didn’t say anything else. Only Podrick and Varys weren’t affected by Griff’s taunt. Varys’s expression remained calm, as usual. Podrick frowned then his eyes widened.

“Is that why Manfrey Martell wants to have the parlay in Dorne?” Podrick asked. “He knows my Lady Ser will bring the dragons with her. He has the horn and intends to enslave the dragons while they’re there?”

“He’s a cousin to Prince Doran,” Varys pointed out. “The whisper is he’s the most likely to be named the new Prince of Dorne. His men are already loyal. None of the other houses would stand against him if he enslaved the dragons.”

Griff’s expression hardened. “No, I won’t allow it. He won’t have the dragons, not even for a moment. They’re not going near Dorne until that horn is found.”

“The Dornish are marching,” Jaime reminded him again. “We must stop their march or we’ll be fighting wars from both sides. We need the parlay.”

“Brienne isn’t going to Sunspear, to where they have the advantage of territory and men.” Griff eyed Jaime with open disgust. “Are you sure you’re a battle commander?  A decent commander would control the battlefield and limit his opponent’s resources. You must entice your enemy to come to _your_ territory to parlay.”

“We have nothing to entice the enemy,’ Jaime hissed. “They won’t come to us until they march to take King’s Landing.”

“They’ll come, if you offer them something they desperately want,” Griff insisted.

“The only thing we have that they want are the dragons,’ Tyrion pointed out. “They could bring the horn with them. What’s to stop them from using _Dragonbinder_ the moment they get in range of the dragons, whatever that range is?”

“They don’t know what the range is. We’ll hear the horn when they blow it. These five dragons are small and have a limited fire range,” Griff pointed out. “We could kill the Dornish group before the young dragons do extensive damage. No, the Dornishmen won’t risk using the horn, if they only have a small contingent of men with them.”

“Then why would they come to King’s Landing to parlay with us?” Varys asked.

“We’ll give them what they’ve wanted for nearly as long as I’ve been alive. Vengeance,” Griff answered. “We’ll give them Gregor Clegane and the Lannisters.”

“No!”

Brienne, Tyrion and Jaime spoke almost in unison. Griff raised his chin, unimpressed by their resistance. Tyrion glared at Griff while Brienne stared at him in horror. Jaime actually reached for his sword before the dragons hissed and spread their wings. Podrick took a step back, his eyes wide, as he stared at Jaime. Slowly Jaime moved his hand away from his sword belt and took a deep breath.

Brienne stepped forward, symbolically putting Jaime and Tyrion behind her back. Griff’s eyes darkened to almost black at her move. She gently laid her hand on his shoulder. His heart thrummed furiously under her hand. He didn’t refuse her touch but his body remained rigid as he watched her.

“You cannot give them Ser Jaime or Lord Tyrion,” Brienne protested, fighting to keep her voice calm and even. “The Gods demand Ser Jaime fight for the living in the battle against the Army of the Dead. The fate of humanity may depend upon him.”

Griff gritted his teeth but watched her with glittering indigo eyes. The dragons remained alert around them but drew in their wings. They could sense the tension easing around them. Griff was in control of his emotions even when revenge for the deaths of mother and sister were so close.

Brienne breathed deeply and continued. “Lord Tyrion is Daenerys’s Hand. She’ll consider it an act of war if you give him over to Dorne. We’re facing enough wars. Please, don't bring more upon us.”

Griff studied her face for a long moment. Something he saw in her expression must have reached him. Under her hand, his heartbeat slowed back to an even pulse. The savage light in his eyes began to fade, lightening the color. Finally, he nodded. He took her hand to remove it from his shoulder, squeezing gently before he released it.

“Very well,” he agreed. “We’ll decide on the fates of the Kingslayer and the helpless Hand after the battle. But we must offer the Dornish something significant to bring them to King’s Landing. They shall have Gregor Clegane and Cersei Lannister.”

“No!”

This time it was only Jaime who cried out. Tyrion bent his head, hiding his expression, but he said nothing. Brienne also stayed silent, knowing Griff was right. The Dornish would only come, would only halt their march, if they were given partial vengeance for their suffering at the hands of House Lannister. Tywin had ordered the deaths of Princesses Elia and Rhaenys but he’d died and escaped Dorne’s wrath. Gregor would pay for his crimes, if there was enough humanity left in him to understand.

Cersei’s machinations, instigated by her hatred of Tyrion then by the cunning of Qyburn, had led to the deaths of Princes Oberyn, Trystane and Doran. She would be partial recompense for the sufferings of the Martell family. Despite the deep cruelty in Cersei, Brienne felt compassion for the horrors that would await her in Dorne. But the death of one would save the lives of thousands fighting, or caught in the cross-fire, in a battle against the Dornish.

“I will not allow you to kill my sister,” Jaime insisted. “She was poisoned by that pathetic excuse for a maester. She didn’t know what she was doing.”

“You did,” Griff reminded him. “You followed her orders without question. You slaughtered hundreds of your own men at Highgarden on her command. You watched her falsely sit upon the Iron Throne and did nothing to curb her.  You saw the destruction she wrought at the Sept of Baelor and simply fell into bed with her. She killed hundreds, including your own children, and still you obey her commands."

Jaime flushed and took a step back, unable to defend himself against Griff’s claims. Griff took a step forward, closing the distance between them.

“Tell me, Kingslayer, has your sister ever done anything good for you?” Griff questions. “Has she ever made a decision that benefited you and not her? Is the pleasure of bedding her enough to make up for all that she’s taken from you? If not for her, you’d be the respected Lord of Casterly Rock, father of living children all your own, leader of a dynasty and known as a man of honor.”

Jaime remained silent, the color draining from his face. Griff pressed his advantage, both physically and verbally. He took another step closer to Jaime and continued to hammer him with verbal blows.

“Kingslayer, was it worth giving all that up, for Cersei? Is the half-life she condescended to give you enough?” Then Griff delivered his hardest blow. “Is she worth more than Brienne?”

“What?” Jaime gasped.

“Brienne or Cersei,” Griff continued relentlessly. “One of them must go to Dorne if you don’t want the Dornish to spill blood in King’s Landing. To this very moment, you defend your sister, regardless of her actions. If you continue to do so, Brienne will make the choice. She’s a woman of honor, a noble knight of the Seven Kingdoms, who would willingly sacrifice herself for the greater good.”

Brienne gasped but softly. It was true. If the Gods required her to sacrifice herself so that others, innocent and deserving like Podrick and Ela, had a chance to live, she would do so. She was the Gods’ warrior and an instrument of their will. The Gods commanded and she obeyed.

Griff took another step closer to Jaime, who was now rooted to the spot. Jaime wrenched his gaze away from Griff to stare at Brienne. His green eyes were wide and wild, shocked almost beyond his ability to comprehend.

“Decide, Kingslayer,” Griff ordered. “Will you sacrifice Brienne, for Cersei?”


	33. Messenger Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She could finally rest now that Griff was here. He would watch over the dragons just as diligently as she did. She was no longer alone in her duty to protect them.

### Chapter 33: Messenger Keeper

It was the cries of the dragons that finally woke Brienne. She blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight pouring in through the windows. The door connecting the sleeping chamber to the sitting room was open. They were still in the rooms assigned to Daenerys. Brienne had considered coaxing them back to her room but the dragons had already built their nests. Taking them to the room she’d been given would only have caused them to destroy more furniture. Not that it mattered to Brienne where the dragons slept. She’d paced the nights away just as effectively from Daenerys’s sitting room as she would have from anywhere else. The threat of _Dragonbinder_ had made sleep impossible, until last night.

She could see the dragons flying around the sitting room and out the open doors to the balcony. Griff was seated on the floor, his back resting against the ruined sofa, with Allwyn curled up in his lap. He’d changed out of the drab travel clothes he’d worn yesterday to a dark shirt, breeches and a leather jacket. Gallan flew around the room with manic energy while Ardayn and Serdun choose to sun themselves on the balcony. Catren was perched across from Griff, squawking animatedly, wings outspread, nearly bouncing with excitement.

Griff nodded and watched the brown dragon, a half-smile pulling up the corners of his mouth as it continued to chatter away. Finally, he pulled Catren into his arms and murmured to it. Brienne couldn’t hear what he’d said but Catren melted into his side, trying to climb into his lap beside Allwyn. Allwyn squawked in protest, not wanting to share the comfortable position. Griff laughed.

“You’re not small anymore,” he insisted, loud enough for her to hear. “I can’t hold you both at once.”

Brienne pulled herself out of the comfortable bed. She hadn’t paid attention to her surroundings when she’d fallen onto the cushions the night before. After four nights without sleep, her body had shut down as soon as it was allowed to. She could finally rest now that Griff was here. He would watch over the dragons just as diligently as she did. She was no longer alone in her duty to protect them.

Griff looked up and watched her stagger into the doorway. “Ahh, she awakes.”

“How long did I sleep?” She studied the sun, high in the sky, outside the windows.

“As long as you needed,” Griff answered simply.

Ardayn and Serdun rose when they heard her voice and came back into the room. Gallan screeched and threw itself enthusiastically into her arms. The air rushed out of her lungs as she took a step back to retain her balance. She carried the blue dragon into the sitting room and sat down beside Griff, Gallan still in her arms. Serdun settled into the cushions of its nest but laid its head on Brienne’s shoulder. She stroked the green and orange dragon under its chin, where it liked it best. Ardayn also returned to its nest and, like Serdun, leaned forward. Ardayn wedged its head between Griff and Brienne, resting on both their shoulders. Brienne laughed as she released Gallan to wrap her arms around her two most ardent guards’ necks.

“Five months,” Griff noted. “It’s been five months since we’ve been together.”

“We both had responsibilities,” Brienne pointed out. “You had to protect the dragons and I had to protect Lady Catelyn’s daughters.”

“You did a magnificent job,” Griff praised. “Both of Catelyn Stark’s daughters are back home, as is one of her sons. The Starks have regained their home and their bastard is now their king.”

“I had nothing to do with that.” Brienne stroked under Ardayn’s chin as the silver-grey dragon shifted more of its weight onto them. “King Jon and Lady Sansa brought together the Northmen and the Knights of the Vale. Together, they retook Winterfell and freed the North of the vile Boltons.”

Griff scowled even as he hugged Catren to his side. “I’m happy the Starks defeated the Boltons but I wanted Roose Bolton and Locke for myself.”

Yes, she remembered the controlled rage in Griff’s eyes when she told him about her near-rape and the ordeal of the bear pit. Roose Bolton and Locke were fortunate to have escaped his wrath. Griff wasn’t mad as Ramsey Bolton had been but he carried the blood of the dragon. Like Drogon, he would leave behind no trace of his enemy.

“They’re gone, as well,” Brienne assured then changed the subject. “You did an extraordinary job with your responsibility, too. I’m amazed at how well-trained and disciplined the dragons are. How did you manage it? They’re still so young.”

She hugged Serdun closer. The green dragon remained in its nest but, like Ardayn, leaned more of its weight onto Brienne’s shoulder.

“At first, they were upset you were gone,” Griff recalled. “For weeks, while we were at sea, they refused to let me out of their sight. I had bruises and claw marks all over because they’d hold on so tightly. They were better when we landed in Valyria. I think being connected to the birthplace of the dragons, and visits from Drogon, helped.”

“I wish I could explain to them why I left them.” Though she tried mightily, Brienne couldn’t keep her voice even. “I didn’t want to leave but I had to fulfill my vow to Lady Catelyn.” Her voice broke on the last word and tears filled her eyes.

Immediately the dragons, all six of them, gathered around to comfort her. Griff turned to face her, making space for Ardayn and Serdun to join them on the floor. Gallan pressed deeper into her lap while Catren shifted to settle on the other side. Even Allwyn, cozy in Griff’s lap, leaned into Brienne to press its head against her shoulder.

“They do understand,” she whispered. “How did they know?”

Griff looked at the dragons then rested his hands on Ardayn and Catren’s backs, between their rows of spikes. “You forget how intuitive they are. They understood your emotions that last night we shared in Tyrosh. They knew how much it hurt you to leave us. You wouldn’t have left us if there had been a choice. Honoring your vow, protecting the vulnerable, is a natural part of who you are. We who love you, will never seek to change you.”

Brienne looked around at the six, basking in the heat and closeness they so generously shared with her. They weren’t angry for her leaving them. They understood and accepted that her duty, her honor, was important. They’d let her go then immediately accepted her back when they were reunited. Her dragons were kind, forgiving and far more understanding than she’d expected.

She blinked rapidly to clear her eyes. “But how did you train them?”

“By training my men,” Griff explained. “Soldiers need discipline and routine to perfect their skills. The dragons watched and learned from them. The discipline helped them, too. It gave them focus and, once I understood, it allowed me to teach them defensive formations with me as their center.”

“Did you send them to me?” Brienne asked. “They came to me at Dragonstone.”

“I heard about the call for sell sword to fight for Dorne.” Griff’s mouth tightened. “I knew that could only be trouble in Westeros. We left Valyria that same day. The dragons and I were back in Tyrosh by the time I got your message about parlay. I worried about you coming to King’s Landing to deal with the Mad Queen and the Ironborn King.”

“That’s why you were able to answer my scroll so quickly,” Brienne recalled. “I wondered about that. Was that when you sent the dragons?”

“I didn’t send the dragons,” Griff corrected. “We were crossing the Narrow Sea when Drogon found us. Either Drogon called to them, or they picked up your scent from Drogon, because they went after the big dragon. I tried to follow them but they flew straight up, until I couldn’t see them anymore. I was in complete panic. I didn’t know what had taken them.”

That was the fear that ate at Brienne every moment, that had kept her from rest. _Dragonbinder_ could take the five from them. Griff had lived that horror, but at least he’d had the assurance that Drogon was with the five and would keep them safe. None of the dragons were safe from the horn that might be able to enslave them.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that. I sent you a raven as soon as I could. When did it get to you?” Brienne asked.

“It went to Tyrosh first then came to me,” Griff explained. “I found out only hours after I landed in Westeros.”

Brienne’s eyes widened. “You’ve been in Westeros for as long as I’ve been in the southlands? Where were you?”

Griff hesitated then looked around. “Brienne, there are some things I can’t tell you right now. It’s not safe with so many people we can’t trust around us. Please believe I’ll tell you everything as soon as it’s safe.”

“Telling me where you were will compromise your safety?” Brienne questioned.

Griff hesitated again then gave her a very direct look. “No, it won’t compromise _my_ safety.”

He put a subtle emphasis on ‘my’ and Brienne’s eyes widened. Suddenly, she understood. It wasn’t the weather that had delayed the _Golden Company_. That was only the excuse they’d given Tyrion to disguise their actual arrival. They were the best fighting company in Essos, able to adapt to any surroundings. Griff was smart, battle-wise and planned into the future. The office in Tyrosh was not opened to take advantage of the gap left by the departure of the _Second Sons_. Griff had set up a base as close to Westeros as possible, to cross quickly when the time was right.

The company had taken on a former Lyseni pirate as their master-of-ships. They hadn’t accepted the commission to guard the free cities from pirate attack because they needed gold. Griff knew his men had to learn to fight at sea and needed ships to cross the Narrow Sea, preferably ones that didn’t look like military vessels. His army had used the commission to cover their true plans. They’d taken the pirate ships to build up their armada faster while also training their men to fight in the sea. The _Iron Fleet_ would bring over the bulk of his army but a large portion of the _Golden Company_ was already in Westeros.

“When?” Brienne demanded.

Griff didn’t pretend to misunderstand her question. He didn’t answer out loud but looked down at his hand on Ardayn’s back. Brienne also looked to see him hold up his index finger. If anyone was listening, they wouldn’t understand what Griff had just told her. The _Golden Company_ had landed in Westeros a month back. They had already begun to cross when Sansa received Harry Strickland’s message for Davos, offering to back her in taking Westeros. Where the company men were and what they were doing was a mystery to Brienne. She looked back up at Griff’s eyes. They were clear and intensely purple, boring into her as if trying to _will_ her to trust him.

She hesitated and nodded. There was nothing she could do until the _Golden Company_ , her fellow officers and fighters, made their move. They would, quickly and efficiently, execute the mission Griff had sent them off to do. In the meantime, Griff had come to King’s Landing, deliberately turning the council’s, and if necessary, Daenerys’s focus onto himself. He was the distraction that deflected attention from the company’s actions. He’d come alone, knowing he was safe with the dragons to protect him.

King Aegon the Sixth had a clear plan to take Westeros from his aunt, Daenerys. But did he have an equally clear plan to serve the people once he had kingship?

Brienne took a deep breath and spoke. “There is nowhere safe in Westeros. Even for those living in King’s Landing, life isn’t guaranteed.”

Griff frowned at her, his brows furrowed in confusion. Brienne told him about Cara, taking the dragons hunting, Ela and the orphans, the starving masses and the deep sense of despair among the war-weary people. Once she started to talk, she couldn’t stop. There was too much suffering and hardship in the kingdom. Cersei hadn’t cared but Griff would.

“You can change it. You will change it, won’t you?” Brienne demanded. “How can we live in a world where a mother is forced to choose between her child and her own survival? How can people ignore the plight of helpless orphans?”

Griff nodded. “Yes, Brienne, I will take care of the people. I just need time to organize and –”

“Some people don’t have time,” she interrupted. “You’ve seen the capital. It’s better than many places I’ve been to in the North. The Riverlands are a graveyard. Women and children huddled together in hovels because they dare not be seen by the bands of marauders. Septons and silent brothers digging up the ground to find roots and bugs to feed the starving. Wells and streams so filled with blood that the water isn’t safe to drink. Farmers who kill the hungry trying to steal what little crop they have because they’re also hungry. Babies dying in the streets because they have no one to nurse them. The –”

“Brienne, stop!” Griff ordered.

Brienne stopped. She was gasping for breath but there was so much more she wanted to tell him. He was her king, he’d promised her he would take care of the people, feed the hungry, shelter the homeless and care for the forgotten. He _must_. That is what a just king would do.

Griff had let her speak until she ran out of air. Now he cupped her face and leaned closer.

“Brienne, I know how dire the situation is,” he assured her. “I’ve gotten reports from my spies. But I cannot help the people until I solidify my position. Without the respect and loyalty of the remaining Lords, my ideas aren’t enough to feed and shelter the people.”

“But you have plans?” she demanded, looking straight into his Targaryen purple eyes. “You’ve created a strategy to help the people?”

He released her face and nodded. “I have. Look at this.”

He turned around and reached back to the small, cushioned chair Missandei had favored when she was in Daenerys’s chambers. Brienne hadn’t noticed the new dress until Griff brought down to her. After many days of Stark grey and Targaryen black and red, the seamstress had given her a modified gown of silver-blue with white swirls, a near-exact match to Ardayn’s coloring.

“Another dress,” Brienne noted. “I asked the dressmaker not to bring me more but she pleaded to be allowed to make me new gowns. She said they suited me.”

Griff smiled. “She was right. I noticed your dress and longer hair when I arrived yesterday.”

“It annoys me but the dragons like it,” Brienne explained.

Almost as if demonstrating her point, Serdun leaned into her and rubbed its head against her hair. Then the green and orange dragon rose in a perfect vertical lift and went back to the balcony. Ardayn ruffled its wings and also went back to the balcony but refrained from mussing Brienne’s hair on the way.

“I like your hair, too,” Griff agreed, “and the dresses do suit you. But that’s not the reason the dressmaker wanted to continue making them for you. What does she get from making dresses, Brienne?”

Brienne blinked then nodded with understanding. “She gets coin. I didn’t think of that, since I didn’t pay her. Daenerys arranged for the dresses. She, Missandei and I wore the same style, but in different colors and patterns.”

Griff frowned. “Daenerys was trying to build ties to you, show the people that you were united.”

Daenerys had done more than that. She had openly claimed Brienne as her kin, been generous in her praise, knighted her and trusted Brienne to represent her in Dorne. The matching dresses had been the most obvious sign of the queen’s claim but her every gesture had indicated her faith in Brienne. Faith that would now be broken because Brienne was sworn to her nephew and not to the Dragon Queen. The realization made her heart ache.

“Yes, she was but she was also creating work for the dressmaker,” Brienne reminded him. “The woman was paid for her work.”

“Correct. What will the dressmaker do with the coin?” Griff prompted.

Brienne stared at him. “She’ll use it to buy the things she needs.”

“Exactly,” he agreed. “There isn’t enough food to feed all the people, but there is enough trade and shipments to feed those who have coin to buy food. So, the dressmaker buys fish, then the fishmonger now has coin to buy new clothes from the dressmaker or shoes from the cobbler. Once the cobbler had coins from his trade, he has money to buy food. And the cycle continues.”

Brienne took a moment to think through Griff’s words. “So, your plan is to create work for those who are in trade and have skills. That will allow them to buy each other’s products so they will all have fish, dresses and shoes. Will that work?”

“It’s working for the blacksmiths,” Griff noted. “They’ve been laboring day and night since you and the dragons released the Valyrian steel weapons. They’re also forging arrows and swords from dragonglass. Not only do they have coins to buy food and shoes, they’ve also brought on helpers to clean and polish while they perform the skilled work. So, now some unskilled workers also have coins. We continue that process with more work for more people.”

“If it’s so easy to lift people up, why didn’t Cersei do it?” Brienne puzzled.

Griff scowled. “The Lannisters don’t care about the smallfolk. Cersei wanted to buy armies and conquer more territory. Tyrion wants to create his own empire and Jaime, well, he has no idea what he wants. They know nothing about building people up, only how to tear people down.”

Brienne ignored his bitterness and focused on Griff’s words. While the kingdom didn’t have large amounts of gold to pay off the debts of war, they did have some coin to sustain trade. But, even if the citizens had coin, was there enough food to trade for that coin?

Gallan used the silence to spread its wings. The blue dragon flew off to join Serdun and Ardayn sunning themselves on the balcony. Catren, sitting beside them, cried plaintively. Griff lifted Allwyn, a dead weight in his lap, and transferred the blue-grey dragon to Brienne. Allwyn barely moved as it sunk into Brienne’s lap. Catren squawked excitedly as it settled in Griff’s arms. The brown dragon flattened against his chest, wrapping its neck around his head and humming with contentment.

Brienne’s heart ached as she watched them. The last time they’d been together, five months ago, the dragons had been too small to wrap around them as Catren did with Griff and Allwyn did with Selwyn. Soon the dragons would be too big for them to even hold. Perhaps they may even grow as large as Drogon. If they were allowed to grow, if they could overcome the difficulties facing the kingdom: war, starvation and infighting.

“There isn’t enough food from trade to feed all the people,” she pointed out. “My father and many of the lords in the Stormlands have gathered together to care for the needy in their lands.”

“Not every lord is as generous and as caring as your father, Brienne,” Griff reminded her. “Plus, the Stormlands aren’t densely populated. It’s easier to share with a smaller population.”

“Then what are your plans for caring for the people in other regions and for the poor here in the capital?” she asked. “There are those who cannot work.”

He opened his mouth to reply when a knock on the door interrupted him. Gallan squawked but remained on the balcony while Ardayn and Serdun looked up with interest. Catren and Allwyn, cuddled in Griff and Brienne’s arms, barely even moved.

“It has to be Podrick,’ Brienne surmised. “The dragons wouldn’t be this relaxed if it were anyone but him.”

Griff nodded then lifted his head to look over the sofa. “Enter!”

Podrick opened the door, his eyes bright with excitement. “Your Grace, my Lady Ser, we found something to show you.”

Hope shot through Brienne like an electric charge. She rose, almost tumbling Allwyn out of her lap. The blue-grey dragon squawked in protest. Brienne quickly sat back down, resting her hand on the nearly-sleeping dragon.

“Did you find _Dragonbinder_?” Brienne demanded.

Podrick’s excitement dimmed. “No, my Lady Ser. But we did find something very special that you must see.”

“What is it?’ Griff got up with Catren still in his arms.

“I won’t spoil it.” Podrick grinned and shook his head, his excitement returning. “It’s a very good surprise, that my Lady Ser will be thrilled to see. Will you come now?”

Brienne nodded and shifted Allwyn to the sofa. The dragon yelped in protest but Brienne rose anyway. Gallan flew into the room. Podrick braced himself as the dragon draped itself across his shoulders. Ardayn and Serdun came to join them, alert now that the others, minus Allwyn, were preparing to leave.

“In a minute, Podrick,” Griff agreed. He looked sideways at Brienne. “Brienne needs to change. It would be a shame not to wear such a pretty, and important, dress.”

 

* * *.

 

A short time later, Brienne, Griff, Podrick and the dragons entered the council chamber. Tyrion, Jaime, Bronn and surprisingly, Sandor, were all gathered at the center table. Tyrion was seated at the end, in the chair normally used by Daenerys. Jaime was sitting at his brother’s side, silent and still with his head down. Bronn and Sandor were standing, inspecting the neat row of Valyrian steel swords lining the table.

Bronn and Sandor nodded when they entered but neither Tyrion or Jaime rose when Griff came into the room. Tyrion lifted his chin, as if daring Griff to comment on his breach of protocol. All citizens were required to stand when the king or queen entered. Tyrion had always stood for Jon and had spent much of his life in court. He knew the rules and was deliberately flaunting them. Jaime didn’t even appear to notice they’d entered, even when the dragons flew in.

Griff ignored Tyrion to study the swords on the table. The dragons flew to their favorite spot by the windows, comfortable in their surroundings and with the men in the room. Brienne was torn between being affronted for her king and worry about Jaime. But no matter her feelings, her duty was to her king.

“You’re supposed to stand in the presence of the king,” she reminded sharply.

Tyrion hesitated and looked over to the dragons. They remained calm, not sensing tension in the room. Griff casually picked up one of the wickedly sharp swords and held it at arm’s length, testing its balance.

“I thank you for your defense, Brienne,” Griff said easily, “but it’s unfair for a woman of your stature to school one so beneath you.”

Tyrion flushed. “Is that a comment about my height or lack of it?”

“No,” Griff responded in the same easy tone, “it’s a comment about your lack of honor.”

Tyrion’s face reddened even more as he pushed his chair away from the table. His feet had just landed on the floor when Griff’s snicker stopped him. The Hand froze and glared at Griff.

“See, Brienne?” Griff swung the sword in a lazy figure eight. “He does stand before his king. You may be seated, Lord Hand.”

Griff deliberately turned his back on Tyrion before the dwarf could scramble back into his seat. Tyrion fumed with anger as he sat back down. Bronn watched the exchange with a faint smirk on his face, then appeared to be deeply engrossed in the swords when Brienne glared at him. Sandor shook his head and muttered under his breath but kept his attention on the table.

And still, Jaime didn’t react.

“Ser Jaime,” Brienne called out to him but received no reaction. She raised her voice. “Ser Jaime!”

Jaime jerked and turned to face her. Brienne gasped. The right side of his face was bruised.  He had red welts along his neck, swelling on his cheek and the blood pooled under his eye made the skin look black. Jaime’s expression was almost as wounded as his face. His eyes were dark and haunted. His entire face drooped, making him look old and haggard.

“I told Cersei our decision to send her and Ser Gregor to Dorne,” Jaime announced, his voice flat and hollow. He looked back down at the table.

Tyrion looked at his brother with obvious concern. “She didn’t take it well.”

“Did you think she would?” Griff seated himself at the other end of the table, in the chair Jon normally used. “Did you send word to Manfrey Martell? Will he trade Cersei and Gregor for a ceasefire?”

Tyrion glared at Griff and refused to answer. Brienne, who would normally have taken a seat at the table, chose to stand behind her king’s shoulder.

“King Aegon asked you a question, Lord Tyrion,” she spoke sharply. “He’s working to protect the people of Westeros and avoid war with Dorne. Need I remind you your queen commanded you to do the same? Will you risk further smears to your reputation to appease your anger?”

Tyrion looked up at her briefly then looked back at Griff.

Griff leaned back in the chair, supremely relaxed. “Do you wish to be known as yet another Lannister who cared more for himself than for the people? Do you think your attitude will save you from your queen’s wrath?”

Jaime, normally quick to defend his brother, reminded silent. The glittering anger in Tyrion’s eyes faded as alarm replaced it. Still the Hand took a deep breath and spoke in a calm tone.

“Perhaps you should also consider your actions,” Tyrion suggested. “My queen won’t take your claims lightly.”

“What claims?” Griff demanded. “I’ve made no claims. I’ve offered my assistance since you’re clearly unable to run the city on your own.”

“So, you have no intention of trying to take King’s Landing?” Tyrion didn’t bother to hide the disbelief in his expression.

Griff leaned forward, still at ease. “I will never try to take King’s Landing, Lord Hand. I assure you.”  

Brienne knew there was no ‘try’ involved. When Griff was ready to take the capital, he would take it. But he was holding back, keeping Tyrion’s focus on him so the _Golden Company_ could complete their mission without interruption or distractions. What did Griff want that was more valuable than taking the capital of Westeros? Whatever it was, it wasn’t as immediate problem as many others.

“Lord Hand, have you had word on _Dragonbinder_?” Brienne asked. She looked at Bronn and Sandor. “You’ve both returned from your inquires. What have you learned?”

The hostility faded from Tyrion’s expression as he was reminded of the threat hanging over the dragons and, by extension, over all of Westeros. Bronn and Sandor exchanged grim glances before turning to face Brienne.

“Nothing,” Bronn admitted. “I’ve been to so many brothels, I started to see the same men over and over. Everyone talked about the dragons but no one boasted about having a weapon to control them. They would have talked. I paid the whores enough to make the men very relaxed. Believe me, no man is as boastful as he is when his pants are down and a naked whore is holding his co—”

“Bronn!” Tyrion hissed. “We don’t need the graphic details.”

“Concentration. I was going to say concentration,” Bronn insisted. “Men talk freely when they’re distracted.”

Sandor snorted while Griff glared at Bronn. Podrick’s cheek pinkened but Jaime remained silent and detached from their conversation. Brienne didn’t bother to be embarrassed. All that mattered to her was that Bronn hadn’t found word about the terrible horn.

“What about you?” She turned to Sandor. “Have you heard anything?”

Sandor shook his head. “No, it could be whoever took the horn isn’t in the city anymore.”

“Do you think they smuggled the horn to Dorne?” Podrick wondered. “Do they still expect us to parlay there?”

“That depends.” Griff turned his glare onto Tyrion. “Lord Tyrion, we don’t have time for your petty behavior. The dragons are at risk. Did you or did you not send a raven to Dorne?”

Tyrion nodded, more of his resentment fading. “I did.”

“When?” Griff demanded.

“Yesterday, after we spoke,” Tyrion admitted. “Once Jaime agreed to send Cersei and Gregor to Dorne.”

“Good,” Griff released his breath on a heavy exhale. “We’ll know soon if our token of goodwill has been accepted.”

Jaime finally looked at them. “My sister is not a token of goodwill.”

“No, she’s not,” Griff agreed. “There’s no good in her at all. But the Dornish might find a use for her.”

Jaime rose from the table, color flushing into his bruised face. He glared at Griff. Brienne looked from Griff to Jaime, seeing the tension building in both men. Jaime had made the terrible choice to let go of his sister, the other half of himself. The decision had forced Jaime to accept the truth of who Cersei really was and the harm she’d caused him. He’d chosen to break free of her poisonous influence but it was a phyric victory. Jaime was tearing apart his own soul to do it.

Judging by his aching grief, it didn’t even matter to Jaime that he hadn’t really had a choice. Griff would send Cersei, regardless of Jaime’s decision, if it brought a ceasefire with Dorne. The death of the daughter of the man who’d ordered his sister and mother’s murders wouldn’t matter to Griff. Seeing the telltale darkening in Griff’s eyes, Brienne hurried to distract them.

“Podrick, you said you had something special to show me,” Brienne spoke up. “What is it?”

Podrick, who had moved near the side table, nodded. He stepped aside to reveal a longsword with an exceptionally long hilt laid out on the surface. Podrick carefully carried the sword over to the main table.

“My Lady Ser, you said you dreamt of holding a lightning bolt among Valyrian steel.” Podrick glowed with his excitement. “Was this what you saw?”

Brienne stepped forward to examine the sword as Podrick laid it on the table. The long hilt was wrapped in neatly repaired black leather banded with purple cords. Unlike most swords, this one had an unusually decorative pommel consisting of five four-pointed stars linked in an arch extending past the sides of the hilt. Podrick pointed to the imprint on the base of the sword, where the steel met the leather. An image of a forked lightning bolt surrounded by four-pointed stars was impressed into the steel. Brienne carefully wrapped her hand around the hilt and felt a jolt run up the length of her arm.

She released the sword instantly and stepped back, gasping. As she did, the dragons screeched, spreading their wings and puffing their bodies. They had sensed the jolt passing thought her. Griff rose from the table, looking from her to the dragons then back. Bronn, Sandor and Tyrion also stared at her. Even Jaime looked up, his eyes widening. 

“My Lady Ser, what is it?” Podrick looked from her to the sword then back to her.

“Brienne, what happened?” Griff demanded, leaning forward to study the sword.

“I felt a jolt,” Brienne explained. “It raced up my arm.”

She held out her arm. The fine hairs stood on end. Brienne looked around, searching for an explanation for the unsettling sensation. Griff looked past her to the dragons. She also turned to them. The five folded their wings and relaxed. Whatever had caused the thrill of excitement had passed without disturbing them further. Bronn and Sandor came closer to inspect the sword.

“It happened when you touched the sword,” Bronn noted. “Maybe it has magic in it.”

“Or it could be that Lady Ser Brienne’s dress is heavy material,” Tyrion suggested drily as he came down to join them. “I’ve felt a charge touching metal if I’ve worn heavy fabric.”

Bronn studied Brienne’s gown then grinned at Tyrion. “I can’t see you in her dress but a man is entitled to his pleasures. I can suggest a brothel that’s perfect for you.”

Tyrion glared at him then pointed to the mark impressed on the blade. “That’s the sigil for House Dondarrion. Their house goes back to the days before Aegon the First.”

Griff nodded. “I recognize it. The story is that the first lord was a messenger. He was ambushed delivering a message for his king. The man thought he would die in the attack but a bolt of lightning struck his attackers, killing both. The messenger delivered his important message and was made the first Lord Dondarrion for his troubles.”

“I know Beric Dondarrion,” Sandor offered. “I traveled with him and the _Brotherhood without Banners_. They protected the Riverlands and fought north of the Wall in Jon Snow’s army when we caught the wight.”

“Did this Beric ever mention his family’s ancient Valyrian steel sword?” Griff asked.

“Beric doesn’t need a Valyrian steel sword,” Sandor scoffed. “He lights his sword with his own blood.”

Shock went through them, except the dragons. The dragons remained relaxed by the windows, wings outstretched, as they sunned themselves. The humans all stared at Sandor.

“You say he can light his sword with his blood?” Tyrion repeated. “Does King Jon know about this?”

“Aye, Jon Snow saw him do it,” Sandor confirmed. “When we were fighting. I killed him, you know.”

“Beric Dondarrion?” Tyrion asked. “You killed him fighting north of the Wall? Why?”

“No, I killed him when I first met him,” Sandor explained. “The little Stark girl, Arya, accused me of murder. Beric fought me in a trial by combat.” Sandor’s smirk of satisfaction looked odd on his usually morose face. “He lost.”

“You killed Beric when you were still with Arya Stark _then_ you fought with him north of the Wall with Jon Snow?” Brienne summarized carefully. “How is that possible?”

“He said the Lord of Light keeps bringing him back,” Sandor grunted. “I saw the priest bring him back with my own eyes after I killed him.”

Brienne looked around to gage everyone’s reactions to Sandor’s news. Jaime and Tyrion still looked startled while Bronn whistled softly with what could almost be admiration. Griff continued to regard Sandor, as if unsure to believe him.

“You saw Beric brought back to life?” Brienne repeated.

Sandor nodded. “I nearly cut his arm completely off and killed him. Then I turn around and he’s alive again, his arm healed like I hadn’t touched him at all. None of the brothers were surprised. It wasn’t the first time.”

Griff’s expression grew thoughtful. “So, House Dondarrion was started by a bolt of lightning, the current lord is kept alive by the Lord of Light and Brienne dreamt of holding a lightning bolt, perhaps to indicate the significance of this sword.”

“My Lady Ser!” Podrick gasped. “You didn’t just dream it. You were told it, too, by the Red Priestess.”

Brienne stiffened. “You’re right, Podrick. ‘I see you floating between the sun and a star, running with wolves and lions, soaring with dragons and eagles, parting the blackest clouds and _holding lightning in your hand’_.”

“Yes,” Podrick confirmed. “Those were the Red Priestess’s words. You’re meant to have this sword. This is your lightning.”

Griff smiled. “ _Lightning_ a fine sword and a powerful name, Brienne. A single streak of lighting can split the world, change a man’s fate and create a _Firestorm_.”

Brienne hadn’t missed Griff’s reference to his Valyrian steel sword. He hadn’t brought _Firestorm_ with him to King’s Landing. She suspected he’d soon retrieve it, once the _Golden Company_ was in place for his taking of Westeros.

“It’s a far better sword than _Oathkeeper_ , which carries the symbol of the Lannisters and their treacheries.” Griff looked hard at Jaime before turning back to Brienne. “An honorable knight of the Seven Kingdoms, such as you are, shouldn’t carry the symbol of such reviled oath breakers.”

Brienne looked over to Jaime. He lowered his head but not before she saw the hurt and sadness in his eyes. Without her to remind him, Jaime constantly forgot he was a man of honor and a warrior for the Gods. They would not have repeatedly saved him if they didn’t need him to fight for them in the Great War.

Podrick gently touched the hilt of the sword then looked at Brienne. “My Lady Ser, the sword didn’t create any strange feelings for me,” he said. “Perhaps whatever it was the startled you is finished now.”

Brienne gingerly touched the handle but felt no jolt. She wrapped her hand around the hilt and lifted the sword off the table. The Valyrian steel rippled in the sunlight, reflecting light like a hundred captured stars. The sense of rightness she felt holding was indescribable. Still…

She put the sword down. “No, I cannot have this sword.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jaime look up, surprise and guarded hope in his expression. Brienne gently touched the markings on the sword.

“Most of the Valyrian swords taken from the great houses can’t be returned. Many of the houses no longer exist.” She gently stroked the sigil. “This sword belongs to House Dondarrion. It’s up to Lord Beric to determine its fate. We must return it to him.” She looked Griff directly in the eyes. “That is what an honorable knight would do.”

Griff smiled, a mixture of pride and approval in his purple eyes. “So be it. But it will continue to be known as _Lightning_ , the name it was honored with, by one of the noblest knights in the Seven Kingdoms.”

Brienne returned his smile, warmth blooming inside her and coloring her cheeks. Behind her, the dragons squawked and flapped their wings, though they didn’t attempt to fly to her. They’d sensed her pride and were expressing their equally strong admiration for their mother. Brienne went to them and felt even greater warmth when they surrounded her with their magical heat.  

Knocking on the door drew her attention. The dragons remained calm but also looked towards the sound. Tyrion opened the door to reveal a young boy, pale and shaking as he bowed to the Hand to the Queen.

“Begging your forgiveness, Lord Hand.” The servant spoke to Tyrion but stared at the dragons. “There’s a group here wanting to meet with King Jon.”

“Did you tell them King Jon isn’t here?” Tyrion asked.

He repeated his question but the boy couldn’t look away from the dragons. Griff rose and moved to block the boy’s view of Brienne and the five as Tyrion waved his hands in the boy’s face. The servant jerked as if coming out of a trance.

“Did you tell them King Jon isn’t here?” Tyrion repeated.

The boy nodded vigorously. “Yes, my Lord, I did. They want to know where King Jon is now so they can meet him. Their leader says it’s urgent they meet with the king.”

“Did he say why is was so urgent?” Tyrion demanded.

Again, the boy nodded. “Yes, my Lord.  He said he might have a way to stop the war.”

“What?” Brienne left the dragons to join Griff and Tyrion by the door. “How?”

The servant looked at Brienne then at the dragons behind her. “I don’t know, my Lady Ser. He only said he might have a way to stop the war, if he can meet with King Jon.”

“Who is this man?” Griff demanded.

“I don’t know, your Grace,” The poor boy was now sweating. “But…”

“But what?” Griff prompted.

The boy gathered his courage and blurted out. “But he looks just like you, your Grace.”

Brienne looked from the servant to Griff. He looked back at her, his normally expressive eyes blank, his face wiped clean of expression. A man with Targaryen looks was here to meet Jon Snow. A man who claimed to have a way to stop one of the terrible wars threatening to destroy all of Westeros.

_“The dragon must have three heads.”_

Hope filled Brienne. Perhaps this man held the key to defeating the Night King. Three children with the blood of Queen Rhaella had been prophesied. Daenerys and Griff were daughter and grandson of the queen’s bloodline. But there must be another. Could this man be the last Targaryen?

Brienne looked past Griff to the others. The dragons were still calm, Sandor’s expression had returned to his usual bored disinterest, Tyrion and Jamie exchanged confused glances and Bronn frowned as he looked at the servant. She looked back to Griff, barely able to contain the hope and excitement building inside her.

Until she saw Griff’s expression. His eyes were cool and clear, his features perfectly set and his mouth turned up slightly at the corners. He looked like a fallen angel, beautiful and savage, smug and sure, satisfied with himself and his circumstances. And she knew. Griff had planned this. This man wasn’t here to help them save Westeros.  

Griff was ready to claim his heritage.

 


	34. Curiosity Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If she hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep, Brienne would have thought she was hallucinating. This was the answer to her prayers, a chance to stop the bloodshed before it even began. But which war?

### Chapter 34 – Curiosity Keeper

 

Everyone in the council room was silent as the frightened servant continued to stare past Brienne to the dragons. Brienne barely noticed, too focused on what the servant had just told them. A man who looked like Griff was here to offer a possible way to avert war. If she hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep, Brienne would have thought she was hallucinating. This was the answer to her prayers, a chance to stop the bloodshed before it even began. But which war?

She looked to Griff again. The smug satisfaction was gone and now his expression was cool and composed. Griff hadn’t had enough information about the Army of the Dead to formulate a plan to fight them. Yesterday, she and Podrick had taken turns telling him about all that had occurred while they were apart. Griff hadn’t yet seen a Wight, but had nodded acceptingly when Brienne had explained about the creature. He’d seen the truth in her eyes as she described the visceral fear she’d felt when she saw it. The dragons had squawked anxiously when she’d described how they’d flow all the way from Dragonstone to protect her from it.

Then, his expression had been serious and grim. Now, his eyes glittered with satisfaction and his lips curved gently. Did Griff’s smug smile mean he had a plan to avert war with Dorne, maybe even circumvent Manfrey Martell’s demands?  The castellan of Sunspear wanted to parlay in Dorne, where he had the advantage of territory and men. Brienne had tried to reason with Griff to make the trip, reminding him he and the _Golden Company_ had successfully protected her and the dragons before.

No amount of logic had swayed him. Worse, his tension had transmitted to the dragons, who’d puffed and surrounded them, hissing at shadows, sensing the grim fear Griff tried to hide from them. He had refused her arguments, adamant that she and the dragons wouldn’t go into Dornish territory. It was an unnecessary risk if they could bring the Dornish to them. He was confident offering Cersei and Gregor to Dorne would bring Manfrey to King’s Landing.

“We’ll meet them in the Throne Room,” Griff said. “Bring them directly.”

“Why the Throne Room?” Tyrion demanded. “Why not here?”

“He said a group had arrived. Do you really want that many unfamiliar men enclosed in a small space with very protective dragons?” Griff asked him.

Tyrion looked at the dragons then nodded to the servant. The boy bowed deeply and ran from the room. The relief in his expression would have been amusing if it hadn’t been mixed with such terror. The natural fear of dragons, combined with the stories of what Drogon had done to the Lannister army, kept people afraid. No matter how much Brienne stressed the young dragons only defended, not attacked, people still feared them. Even the dragons bringing meat into the capital hadn’t lessened their fearful reactions.

Everyone was silent as they walked to the Throne Room. Brienne watched their expressions as they made the journey. Griff’s face remained composed, head held high and shoulders straight. Tyrion alternated between frowning at Griff and nodding to the guards as they passed. Jaime seemed to have sunk back into his depression, looking ahead without interest or light in his eyes. Bronn and Podrick watched the dragons, far faster fliers than they were walkers, soar along the hallway. Sandor had his usual look of boredom, rolling his eyes at the frightened servants ducking into hallways and vacant rooms as they passed.

Once in the Throne Room, the dragons squawked and raced around the large, empty hall. It was still sunny from the smaller windows around the room but the main window behind the remains of the Iron Throne was shrouded in heavy, black material.  A seven-pointed star of the Faith had been painted on the fabric. The material was so thick barely any sunlight pierced it, effectively concealing the roaring lion sigil behind it.

“The glass maker has already started work on the replacement window,” Tyrion explained, seeing her staring at the cloth. “I thought it best to give the work to the same man. He wasn’t paid for the last window nor was he at fault.”

“Excellent work, Lord Hand.”

Brienne looked over at Griff, surprised he had complimented Tyrion. Judging from Tyrion’s raised eyebrows, he was startled, too. Griff gestured to the covered window.

“You not only arranged to pay the glass maker and ease his worry, you also found a temporary solution to cover the offending window.” Griff nodded. “I noticed the cloth outside, too, when I took the dragons out to the bay this morning.”

“I didn’t expect to receive compliments from you,” Tyrion said.

Griff raised his eyebrows in his Daenerys-like manner. “Perhaps I judged you too harshly, son of Tywin.”

Tyrion winced at the reminder of his father. Jaime, still lost in his daze, didn’t respond. Bronn looked between the Lannister brothers then began to walk down the long hall. Sandor, seeing the dragons were racing around the far end of the hall, cautiously followed Bronn. Podrick grinned at Tyrion, his former master.

“My Lady Ser and I spent last evening telling the king about what we’ve been doing,” Podrick explained. “He now understands how hard you’ve been working for the kingdom.”

Tyrion frowned, clearly not believing Podrick’s assurance, but the rumble of footsteps coming down the hall distracted him. They all turned to face the doors as the servant opened them for the new visitors. A group of two dozen men came in, all clad in black shirts and breeches, with swords on their hips. The first to enter was an older man with well-tanned skin and short greying dark hair. The last to enter was a young man with pale blond hair, eyes so deeply blue they were almost purple and startlingly beautiful, symmetrical features.

The dragons screeched, flying back to them. The five lined up beside Tyrion, a barrier between their family and the unfamiliar men. Brienne, Podrick and Griff were directly behind them, while Bronn, Sandor and Jaime stood further back. Like the rest of the council members, they stared at the youngest man. The visitors stopped in their tracks, eyes wide, as they stared back at the dragons. Automatically, they reached for their swords. The dragons hissed, wings outspread, making themselves as large as possible.

“No, don’t take out your swords,” Tyrion ordered, hand raised as if he could physically dissuade the men. “The dragons only attack in defense. They won’t harm you unless you mean us harm.”

The men looked at each other then slowly moved their hands off their swords. Normally, Brienne would have told the men to remain calm but she was too focused on Griff’s reaction. The smugness had faded from Griff’s eyes, replaced by startled shock, as he stared at the younger man who looked so much like him. Their appearances were so alike they could be brothers. Griff was older and harder, testament to a harsh life lived in the world. The younger man had a gentleness about him that suggested a sheltered background or a sunny disposition. 

Tyrion also looked between the two blond, purple-eyed men. When both continued to stare at each other, neither speaking, Tyrion cleared his throat.

“I’m Tyrion Lannister, Hand to Queen Daenerys,” he introduced himself.

The two purple-eyed men continued to stare at each other silently. Bronn shrugged and moved closer to Podrick.

“Those two think they’re looking into a mirror,” Bronn nodded to them, “and can’t stop staring at themselves.”

Sandor snorted but Tyrion looked over his shoulder to glare at them. He turned back to the men when the tallest one, slim but well-muscled with blond hair and fair skin, moved forward.

“I’m Daeron Vaith,” he introduced. “We have come to meet with Jon Snow, the King in the North.”

Tyrion’s eyes lit up. “Lord Daeron of House Vaith of Dorne?”

Daeron nodded. “Aye.”

Tyrion looked delighted but Griff’s face paled as he studied the Lord of the Red Dunes. House Vaith had fought against King Aegon the First and his sister-wives. Queen Rhaenys had flown to Vaith on the back of her dragon, Meraxes. It had been the first location she’d landed in the Targaryen’s assault on Dorne. Rhaenys and Meraxes were killed after they’d been brought down in the Dornish sand.

King Aegon and Queen Visenya, riding their dragons Balerion and Vhagar, had destroyed Castle Vaith in their grief and rage. They’d taken revenge but it had been cold comfort for the loss of the sister they’d both loved so dearly. Griff looked from Daeron to her, his eyes stark and fearful, as if he were thinking of the same events she was. The young dragons, sensing his fear and tension, growled and puffed up to face the unseen threat. Now Brienne better understood why Griff had been so against sending her and the dragons to Dorne. 

The Dornishmen looked at the dragons. Seeing the five puff aggressively, the men instinctively went for their swords. Tyrion’s eyes widened and he stepped forward, putting himself ahead of the dragons.

“Welcome, my Lord, to King’s Landing,” Tyrion greeted quickly. “King Jon is traveling north with Queen Daenerys to protect us all from the threat beyond the Wall.”

Daeron grunted. “Your king fights fairy tales while we face a true threat.”

“My Lord, the threat beyond the wall is real,” Tyrion insisted. “We’ve seen it.”

Daeron’s men looked at each other then looked back at Tyrion.

“We hear stories of the dead who walk,” Daeron said.

“I fought them,” Sandor growled. He held himself tall and sure. “We went north of the Wall. There was over one hundred thousand of those things and their king who brought the winter storms. We took dragons, an army, even a man who can light his sword with his own blood but we couldn’t defeat them. Any dead in Westeros can be their soldiers, even Dornishmen.”

The men looked startled, their eyes wide and their bodies instinctively leaning back. Whether it was a reaction to Sandor’s scars or his story, was uncertain. The dragons growled again as the tension rose. The Dornishmen looked down at the five, all except the youngest man.

“Lord Beric?” the purple-eyed man spoke. “Lord Beric was with you? Is he well?”

The young man addressed Sandor, finally breaking from staring at Griff. His expression, which had been cool while he studied Griff, warmed considerably.

“Aye,” Sandor nodded. “He fought well and continues to guard Eastwatch-by-the Sea, waiting for the Night King to move his army of bones against the living.”

“Then it’s true,” the man said. “He sent me a scroll, telling of terrible creatures coming to take us all.”

Tyrion looked at Griff, who remained uncharacteristically silent. Apparently, he was content to allow Tyrion to lead the conversation. Tyrion straightened and turned back to the man.

“Yes, the threat is very real. The Night’s Watch has been fighting this threat for many months. We believe it’s only a matter of time before the Night King and his Army of the Dead march upon the living. Lord Beric speaks true, Lord…” Tyrion let his voice taper off questioningly.

The young man straightened and raised his chin, almost defiantly. “I am Lord Edric Dayne, of Starfall.”

Jamie jerked, as if Edric’s words were a shock to his system. Color flushed into his face, reviving Jamie, as he stepped forward. He was closer to the Dornishmen but still behind the protection of the dragons’ defensive live.

“Starfall,” Jaime repeated, new energy in his voice. “You’re Ser Arthur Dayne’s nephew?”

“I was,” Edric confirmed, “until he died at the Tower of Joy.”

“Ser Arthur was the very best of us, of the Kingsguard,” Jaime said quietly, some of the color and energy dissipating. “His death was a great tragedy.”

“It was more than a tragedy, it was a curiosity,” Edric said. “The greatest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms was killed in battle, then the man who killed him returned our family sword. _Dawn_ is beyond price, the only sword of its kind in existence, made from the heart of a fallen star. There is none like it in the entire world. What kind of man returns a priceless heirloom to his vanquished foe’s family?”

Tyrion frowned, as if sensing a trap in Edric’s words. “A man of unquestionable honor, such as Lord Stark was.”

Edric nodded. “A man of unquestionable honor, who claimed Joffrey Baratheon wasn’t the true son of Robert Baratheon. Lord Stark recanted his claim and lost his head for it.” Edric looked from Tyrion to Jaime. “Was his claim true?”

Jaime hesitated then nodded. “It was.”

Edric nodded. “Ser Beric said Jon Snow is as honorable as his father. His word is truth and his promises are sealed in his blood. Is that also true?”

This time Jaime nodded easily. “Yes, it is.”

“Ser Beric is betrothed to my Aunt Allyria. I was his squire and traveled with the _Brotherhood without Banners_ ,” Edric explained. “Lord Beric sent me home when he deemed the Riverlands too dangerous for the only heir to Starfall.”

Jaime nodded. “War kills men of honor and leaves only despair behind.”

“Indeed, it does.” Edric paused and took a deep breath. “Shortly after Lord Ned Stark came to Starfall, bringing the terrible news of my uncle’s death, my Aunt Ashara killed herself. Some say it was in despair over the death of her brother, Arthur.”

“I’m sorry.” Grief cut into Jaime’s features, pulling his mouth and jaw down. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard he’d been killed in battle. No one had ever beaten him before. He was the greatest knight in all of the Seven Kingdoms, if not the world.”

“Yet he was defeated by a man with less skill, less training and an inferior sword.” Edric paused again. “A man who’s name I carry.”

“What?” Jaime’s mouth dropped open.

“My name is Edric but my family calls me Ned,” Ned Dayne explained. “Curious isn’t it that the name of the man who caused us such grief is also my name?”

Shock went through the council members. Brienne and Podrick exchanged wide-eyed glances, Jaime and Tyrion did the same. Bronn looked around, as if unsure how to react. Even Sandor paid attention, his mouth pulled into a frown. Only Griff didn’t react, his face carefully blank as he watched Ned.

“Why?” Tyrion asked, his voice low. “Why would your family name you after Ned Stark?”

Ned paused for a long moment, looking at each council member before stopping on Griff. Ned’s gaze hardened. Griff’s expression remained blank, his body nearly perfectly still.

“I have a theory,” Ned said finally. “Perhaps my aunt didn’t die from despair. Might she have died in childbirth? But she was an unmarried woman, from a noble house. She would never bear a bastard. No taint has ever touched House Dayne, even after my aunt’s death. Could that be the reason why my parents spoke Ned Stark’s name with admiration to their last days, why his name carries on in my family?”

Ned paused. Brienne looked around to gage everyone’s reactions. The men with Ned were calm and composed. This story was not new to them. Podrick, Sandor and even Bronn remained silent. Griff blinked rapidly but that was his only reaction. Jaime’s face paled while Tyrion pressed his lips into a flat line. No one spoke, gazes fixed on the determined young Lord of Starfall.

“Did Ned Stark, instead of allowing a single drop of dishonor to taint House Dayne, take the burden, and the babe, upon himself?” Ned questioned. “Did he destroy his own honor to protect my family and my aunt’s reputation? House Dayne enjoys unparalleled status, going back to the Age of Heroes, while Ned Stark’s reputation was forever besmirched, his character stained, no matter how honorable his later actions.”

“He…he didn’t lose his head for speaking false,” Tyrion explained. “He was a threat to Joffrey’s reign.”

“The death of Ned Stark triggered the death of Joffrey’s reign,” Ned pointed out. “It also gave rise to a new King in the North, one who might have Dayne blood in his veins.”

“You think Jon Snow might be your aunt’s son?” Jaime asked. “Does that matter?”

“It might.” Ned explained. “If Jon Snow carries the blood of House Dayne, of Dorne, and is as honorable as it is said, he might be able to stop the bloodshed.”

Hope fluttered in Brienne’s breast. Westeros had already endured so much pain, bloodshed and suffering. Jon would do almost anything to unite the people and focus them on the common goal of defeating the Army of the Dead. Could the Lord of Starfall deliver a way to calm the Dornish and soothe the wounds they’d suffered at the hands of House Lannister?

“How?’ Brienne demanded eagerly. “How does it matter if King Jon is a son of House Dayne?”

“We will not attack a man who carries our blood and defends us,” Daeron spoke up. “If it can be proven that Jon Snow carries the blood of Dorne and truly fights for _all_ of Westeros, it might be enough to stop the march.”

A charge went through both groups. Dorne was powerful and eager for revenge. Unlike the rest of Westeros, they had not suffered through the War of the Five Kings, nor had they felt the pain of the Night King or the Dragon Queen. If Jon could ease tensions with Dorne, one war would be averted. Perhaps he might even be able to sway the Dornish to join the battle against the Army of the Dead.

Another man, as fair as Daeron but bigger and heavily muscled, spoke up. “We won’t spill the blood of Dornishmen, not against a king who rides into battle to defend us. The White Wolf has brought together warring tribes before. If this threat is as great as Lord Beric says, as you say, then we must stand together.”

“But how can a man prove his bloodline?’ Tyrion asked. He looked sideways at Griff. “Merely saying he is from a noble line isn’t proof. How is King Jon to support such a claim?”

“House Dayne is among the oldest and most noble houses in Westeros,” Edric explained. “Our descendants go back to Queen Nymeria herself. Ser Davos Dayne was husband to the queen. Our blood has been entwined with House Nymeros Martell for generations. He who has the blood of House Dayne has the blood of Dorne itself.”

“I meant no disrespect, my Lord,” Tyrion assured quickly. “I know the glorious history of House Dayne. I don’t question the accuracy of it. I ask how to prove the blood tie.”

Ned was silent again, looking at each council member in turn. As before his gaze ended on Griff. This time Griff reacted, raising his chin as if daring Ned to continue. For a moment, the two men engaged in a silent battle. Finally, Ned looked down and unbuckled his sword belt. The dragons hissed threateningly. Ned froze.

“Nykeōragon ilagon,” Griff spoke for the first time.

The dragons looked at him then folded in their wings and relaxed. They even took a step back, pressing into Brienne, Podrick and Griff. Brienne stared at the five in amazement then looked at Griff.

“What did you say to them?” she asked.

“Nykeōragon ilagon,” Griff repeated, his mouth curving into a faint smile as he looked at her. “It means ‘stand down’ in High Valyrian. I told the dragons these men are not a threat.”

Daeron stared at him. “You command dragons?”

Griff’s expression cooled and his smile faded as turned back to Daeron. “I am Aegon Targaryen. The blood of old Valyria runs through my veins. Yes, I command dragons.”

Daeron looked from Griff to the dragons standing attentively at his side. The five alternated from watching the Dornishmen to watching Griff. Brienne’s heart swelled as she watched them standing as alert and disciplined as any _Golden Company_ officers. Daeron and Ned looked up from the dragons to exchange grim glances then back at their companions. The men looked amongst themselves, sharing silent communication, until the oldest man nodded. Ned nodded back and turned to face the council members.

“The king maybe able to prove his blood with this.” Again, Ned reached for his sword belt.

The dragons shifted and Ned froze once more. Griff moved ahead of the dragons’ defensive line, so he was standing between the young man and the dragons. Ned’s eyes widened then he slowly unlaced his belt. He held the sword sheath up, holding it parallel to the floor. Gently, carefully, he pulled the sword out of the scabbard.

Jaime gasped and stumbled back, as if unable to look at the weapon. Everyone else leaned closer to see what Ned had revealed. He held up a sword that was unlike anything Brienne had ever seen before. The blade was as pale as milkglass with a black leather hilt and a golden sun shining sun rays etched into the pommel. Unlike Valyrian steel, which flashed as it reflected light, this sword glowed. Held proudly aloft for all to see, its unusual surface color seemed to become both deeper and brighter, as if absorbing the sunlight pouring in from the stained-glass windows.

“Is that…” Podrick began, his eyes huge in his face, but was unable to finish his questions. He was too busy staring at the extraordinary weapon.

“This is _Dawn_ , the sword of House Dayne,” Ned confirmed. “It’s said that any warrior of House Dayne, be he father, son, brother or cousin, may wield this sword, if he is deemed worthy.”

“Who deems if a warrior is worthy?” Bronn asked, his voice almost as awed and breathless as Podrick’s.

“ _Dawn_ does,” Ned insisted.

Bronn tore his gaze away from _Dawn_ to stare at Ned. “The _sword_ decides?” 

Ned nodded solemnly. Bronn frowned, his eyes narrowed, if unsure Ned was telling the truth or merely playing a jape on him. He looked from Ned back to _Dawn_ , once again entranced by the sword. Brienne was willing to bet Bronn had never given a woman the same besotted, awestruck expression he graced upon _Dawn_.

“And you are?” Ned’s brows furrowed in curiosity as he prompted Bronn.

It took Bronn a few seconds to look away from the sword. Finally, he did and swept a shallow bow. “Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, at your service.”

“Ser Bronn, would you like to see for yourself?” Ned asked, holding out the sword.

Bronn nodded eagerly. He carefully took the priceless sword by the black leather-covered hilt, holding it with both hands. He hefted it and held it out to check the balance.  

“This is the most amazing weapon I’ve ever held,” he marveled. “It’s solid but still light, big as a broadsword but so perfectly balanced I could hold it in one hand. It might even be worth joining the Kingsguard and giving up women, just to have this sword.”

Beyond him, Jaime winced. “Bronn, that’s the greatest sword in the known world. Have respect for it.”

Bronn tore his gaze away from the magnificent sword. “Have you ever held it?”

“Yes, I have,” Jaime nodded, his eyes dark and haunted. “Ser Arthur allowed me to hold it on several occasions. He even knighted me with _Dawn_. The blade was so sharp it cut through my armor, cloth and skin. I still bear the scars to this day.” He touched his shoulder. “They are my most cherished possessions.”

“Ser Bronn,” Daeron called, drawing Bronn’s attention. “Can you fight with this sword?”

Bronn looked to the bigger man. Daeron slowly pulled out his own sword, while watching the dragons. Griff put his hand on Catren and Allwyn’s necks, pulling them close to his body. The other dragons moved forward, so the five were now standing beside Griff. They remained calm, not even tensing when Daeron revealed his weapon.

Daeron held his sword in a loose hold, not even curling his fingers fully together on the pommel. Bronn still held _Dawn_ in a careful two-handed grip. Daeron brought his sword up in an upward arch, too gentle a motion to be called a thrust. He tapped his sword against _Dawn_ and the sword flew from Bronn’s hand.

“What? How did…?” Bronn’s mouth dropped open. He looked from his now empty hands to _Dawn_ resting on the floor a few feet away. “I was holding it, the sword. You barely touched it.”

“ _Dawn_ chooses its swordsman, not the other way around," Ned explained. “Only he who _Dawn_ deems worthy may have the honor of being the next _Sword of the Morning._ That’s why this sword spends generations hanging above the mantle in our great hall instead of in the hand of many fine Dayne family warriors.”

Brienne knelt down to retrieve the wondrous sword, careful to only pick it up by the hilt. Bronn was right. The sword was solid but light, huge but balanced perfectly and pulsed with energy. It was so steeped in history the sword was almost _alive_. Her blood quickened just to hold it.

“It’s amazing,” she breathed.

“Are you Lady Ser Brienne?” Ned looked at her with frank curiosity. “The first woman to be honored with knighthood?”

“I am Brienne of Tarth.” Brienne nodded and blushed. “A knight of the Seven Kingdoms. Thank you for allowing me the honor of holding such an extraordinary weapon.”

“It’s said that you are an extraordinary weapon, too,” Ned remarked, his beautiful purple eyes dark and solemn. “Perhaps this moment was fated. The sword of the Gods now holds the sword of the stars.”

Brienne stared at Ned solemn expression, her eyes widening in shock. He was serious. The Lord of Starfall considered it an honor for her to hold his family’s precious, irreplaceable sword. A weapon so tied to House Dayne that Ned Stark had traveled all the way to Starfall to return it to their mantle.

She held _Dawn_ out for Jaime to admire. He looked at it, his eyes darkening even more, aching sadness pulling down his face. He reached out to touch the pommel but stopped suddenly, his breath drawn in on a harsh inhale. Brienne followed his gaze to see him stare at his outstretched golden hand. The appendage, cold, rigid and unable to transmit sensation, incapable of passing along the wondrous pleasure of just touching such a marvelous piece, hovered just above _Dawn’s_ hilt. Jaime jerked his hand and hid it behind his back, stepping away.

“No,” he said quietly. “This is Ser Arthur’s sword. He was the most noble and chivalrous knight in the Seven Kingdoms. He never broke his vows, not any of them. I won’t besmirch the weapon of such an honorable man.”

“There is honor in you, too, Ser Jaime,” Brienne insisted quietly. “But no one will see it until you do and show it to them.”

Still, Jaime shook his head. Brienne looked at him sadly then took _Dawn_ to Tyrion, Sandor and Podrick. They all took turns admiring the sword but didn’t attempt to touch it.

“If Jon Snow can wield this sword, it will prove he’s my cousin and carries the blood of House Dayne,” Ned explained. “Dornishmen will listen to a king who honors the blood of Dorne.”

Brienne, who had been in the process of showing _Dawn_ to Griff, froze. She met her king’s gaze. His eyes, which had been cool and calm, now burned as if lit from within. Then she knew. _This_ was his plan. Ned Dayne thought he’d come to King’s Landing to prove Jon Snow had the blood of House Danye, of Dorne. But that wasn’t the real reason. Griff had manipulated the Dornishmen into coming to prove _his_ claim.

Griff, if he really was Aegon the Sixth Targaryen, would also carry the blood of House Danye and with it, Dorne. Elia Martell was the daughter the last Princess of Dorne. Dornish law allowed women to inherit, thus making her children eligible for the throne. Prince Doran and his family were dead, Prince Oberyn had no legitimate children before his death. That meant Princess Elia’s son was next in line to rule Dorne.

Griff held her gaze as he carefully, deliberately took _Dawn_ , the sword of House Dayne, from her hand. Behind her, she heard Ned hiss in annoyance.

“Return my sword, pretender,” Ned ordered.

 _Pretender_. If Ned was calling Griff a ‘pretender’, then Griff had made his claim to be Aegon, the son of Princess Elia. It was the secret Griff kept, had told no one but his men on the _Sea Keeper_ and a handful of _Golden Company_ officers. Griff had not come to her directly from Tyrosh, he’d gone to Dorne first. These men were here to prove Griff’s bloodline, not Jon’s.

Griff stepped forward, walking closer to the Dornishmen, out of the dragons’ fire range. _Dawn_ was clasped firmly in his sword hand. “I am no pretender. I’m Aegon _Martell_ Targaryen. I carry both the blood of dragons and of Dorne.”

Suddenly Daeron swept forward, his sword still in his hand. Unlike the gentle tap he’d delivered when Bronn was holding _Dawn_ , he used his full body strength to break Griff’s grip on _Dawn_. The sword flew from his hand.

 _Daeron’s_ sword flew from his hand.

 _Dawn_ didn’t waiver.

Daeron’s mouth fell open as he looked from the sword to Griff then back again. Griff also looked from _Dawn_ to Daeron. Unlike Daeron’s amazed shock, a slow, satisfied smile lit Griff’s face. Daeron flushed deeply red and turned back at his men.

“Take him!” the Lord of House Vaith ordered as he dove for his sword. “Take him!”

The dragons squawked and puffed; their wings outspread. Brienne and Podrick immediately fell to their knees to restrain them. She grabbed Catren and Allwyn, the most excitable of the five. Podrick hugged Gallan and Serdun leaving only Ardayn unaccompanied. The dragon, named after the last _Sword of the Morning_ , growled and stepped forward, it’s reptilian eyes cold and lethal as it tried to go around Brienne to Griff’s aid.  

“No!” Brienne cried. “Ardayn, māzigon naejot issa!”

“Zaldrīzoti, nykeōragon ilagon!” Griff called, even as the Dornishmen surrounded him.

Surprisingly, the dragons obeyed, even as the noise of clashing swords filled the air. Brienne turned back to watch the men and gasped. They all, except the oldest man, had taken out their swords to engage Griff. Their combined efforts were forcing Griff to backstep down the room, towards the remains of the Iron Throne. Still, _Dawn_ stayed firm in Griff’s hand. She’d seen Griff sword fight before, knew his style, had admired his grace and speed and had marveled at how _Firestorm_ was an extension of his body when he fought.

This was something _entirely_ different. Now Griff was an extension of _Dawn_. The sword knew where to go and used Griff to take it there. The Dornishmen tried to surround them but _Dawn’s_ perfect accuracy, combined with Griff’s graceful water dance style, refused to allow them to be trapped. Brienne and Podrick now leaned over the dragons, covering them with their bodies to shield them, as swords flew out of the fighters’ hands and around the room. Jaime thrust Tyrion behind him as he, Bronn and Sandor deflected and dodged flying swords, further protecting the dragons.

Almost effortlessly Griff, no, not Griff, but _Dawn,_ _Dawn_ disarmed the Dornishmen. Moments later, only Griff was still armed. They’d forced him up the dais so his back was to the molten metal heap of the Iron Throne. The symbolism nearly burned Brienne’s eyes. Griff was breathing heavily, his body shuddering with every breath, breathless but triumphant. He leaned against the remains of the throne his ancestor, King Aegon the First, had built. His eyes were wide with wonder as he stared at the sword his ancestor, Ser Davos Dayne, a former _Sword of the Morning_ , had once claimed. Griff looked from _Dawn_ to Ned, standing further back in the hall.

“What say you now,” Griff panted for breath, “ _cousin_?”

Ned stared back at him, also gasping for breath, his eyes wide and jaw stiff. He looked around at the other Dornishmen as they collected their weapons, then back to the sword held firm in Griff’s hand.

“ _Dawn_ has chosen,” the tall, muscular, unnamed blond man claimed. “Princess Elia’s son holds true. Our Prince has returned to us.”

The man knelt down to pick up his own, efficient but ordinary, blade. He looked around as the other fighters gathered up their sword, careful to stay away from the now-calm but still watchful dragons. The man laid his sword before him and looked up at Griff.

“Aegon Martell Targaryen,” he spoke in a loud ringing tone that echoed in the enormous Throne Room, “I, Anders Yronwood of House Yronwood, do hereby pledge my life and my house to your service.”

Brienne gasped softly. The lord of the second most powerful house in Dorne had just accepted Griff as their ruler. Griff’s smile returned as he looked from Anders to Daeron. The Lord of Vaith also knelt and pledged his loyalty and his house. One by one, the men knelt, pledging the great house of Dorne to Griff except…

Griff looked at the Lord of Starfall. The dragons, sensing Griff’s triumph, shrieked, their cries echoing and amplifying in the silence. Ned looked at the dragons then back at Griff. Finally, his expression softened to acceptance.

“So be it. Behold, the new _Sword of the Morning._ ” Ned knelt and placed his sword on the ground before him. “Aegon Martell Targaryen, son of the sun and of the dragons, I, Ned Dayne of House Dayne, do hereby pledge my life and my house to your service.”

Only the oldest man was left standing. He hadn’t joined the fighting, choosing to stand to the side to watch the battle. Now Griff stared at him, his chin raised. The man looked at Griff for a long moment, his jaw locked. The dragons continue to shriek. Catren and Allwyn left Brienne to fly to Griff, landing on the steps below him.

The oldest man looked from Griff to _Dawn_ and then to Catren and Allwyn. Finally, he removed his own sword. The man paused, closed his eyes as if gathering himself, then opened them as he knelt. He laid his sword before him.

“Aegon Martell Targaryen, son of Dorne and dragons, I, Manfrey Martell of House Nymeros Martell, do hereby pledge my life and my house, your mother’s house, to your service.” Manfrey bowed his head momentarily then he looked up, his dark eyes clear and determined. “We are with you, your Grace. Dorne is yours to command.”

Griff’s smile widened. He turned to Brienne and bowed, his left hand behind his back, _Dawn_ pointed to the floor. She remembered the last time he’d done that, bowed to her over his sword. They had been on a dirty dock in Braavos, preparing to face each other for the first time. Even now, as back then, she thought he was as graceful as a lady, as courtly as a prince.

Prince Aegon Martell Targaryen, the trueborn son of the sun, the heir to Princess Elia Martell, the last remaining direct descendant of the Princess of Dorne and now…

The new Prince of Dorne.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the new Prince of Dorne is also the new _Sword of the Morning_. Griff is focused on taking Westeros but he’s also taken an important step towards facing the Night King. What prophecy now comes into play to guide our heroes in the battle against the Army of the Dead?


	35. Silver Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new ruler of Dorne looked down at the men knelt before him, their lives and houses now his to command, and nodded. A faint smile of satisfaction curled his lips as he pushed away from the remains of the Iron Throne.

 

### Chapter 35: Silver Keeper

Griff held Brienne’s gaze for a long moment, _Dawn_ held steady in his hand. Gallan rose into the air, its wings flapping furiously, creating a gust that tossed Brienne’s hair into her eyes. The action broke her out of the shock that had held her still. She gasped softly and looked around. Jaime, Bronn and Podrick were blank-faced, still absorbing the rapidly evolving events. Even Sandor, who normally scowled through every exchange, stared at Griff, eyes squinting, as if he couldn’t bring the scene into focus. Tyrion blinked rapidly, his gaze fliting from Griff to the various lords as he worked through the ramifications of the most current changes.

The new ruler of Dorne looked down at the men knelt before him, their lives and houses now his to command, and nodded. A faint smile of satisfaction curled his lips as he pushed away from the remains of the Iron Throne.

“Arise, my Lords,” he commanded. “Rejoice. A new era has begun.”

The lords gathered up their swords and rose. Most, except the young Lord Dayne, were older, harder men, used to fighting for what they wanted. Yet they had willingly submitted themselves to their new Prince. The Targaryens hadn’t conquered Dorne, at least, not for long. The Dornish had chosen to join Westeros on their own terms, keeping their Rhoynish customs and laws. The southernmost region was strong and independent, untouched by the wars that had weakened so much of the rest of Westeros and its armies.

While war hadn’t weakened Dorne, pain and suffering had. The death of the previous _Sword of the Morning_ had taken the son and a daughter from House Dayne. House Nymeros Martell had been crippled and bloodied, all three of the last Princess of Dorne’s children killed by House Lannister or its agents. Dorne had stood apart from the rest of Westeros, until now. As the last legitimate heir of the Princess’s direct bloodline, Aegon Martell Targaryen was the first King of the Seven Kingdoms to also be the Prince of Dorne. The first Dornish blood king, he truly held dominion over _all_ of Westeros.

He was also the first Targaryen king in over three hundred years to command dragons. A fact that hadn’t escaped anyone’s notice, especially the dragons. Catren and Allwyn were on the step below him but Gallan, Ardayn and Serdun were still with her. Given Gallan’s anxious hovering and Ardayn and Serdun’s rigid, strained necks, it was clear they also wanted to be with the new Prince of Dorne. Brienne jerked as she realized _she_ should also be at her king’s side.

Gallan swept across the room as Brienne, Podrick, Ardayn and Serdun followed at a calmer pace. The blue dragon landed with controlled precision, at exactly the proper distance left of Catren to allow both to extend their wings without brushing against each other. Gallan folded in its wings and stood very straight, facing the lords of Dorne, calm and majestic under Griff’s approving gaze.

“Sȳrī gaomagon, Gallan,” Griff praised, resting his hand briefly on the dragon’s head.

Brienne stopped at the foot of the stairs, to Griff’s left, beside Gallan. Podrick stood beside her, while Serdun and Ardayn landed on the steps at either end. Like Gallan, they landed perfectly and stood tall and straight, as practiced and skilled as any _Golden Company_ officers.

“Sȳrī gaomagon, Serdun, Ardayn,” Griff praised, then looked past the row of dragons to smile at Brienne.

Like the dragons, Brienne and Podrick also stood tall and straight, just as an office of the _Golden Company_ and her squire should. Still, Brienne didn’t miss the way the Dornish lords looked at her then at Griff, calculation apparent in their narrowed eyes. All except Lord Dayne, who stared at Ardayn.

 “Ardayn,” Ned repeated. “So, it’s true? You named the dragon in my uncle’s memory?”

 Brienne looked away from the suspicious Dornishmen to the Lord of Starfall. Ned’s gaze went from the silver-grey dragon to Brienne’s dress, a near exact match to Ardayn’s coloring. Ardayn, already standing proudly, spread its wings to display the white markings, almost a match for _Dawn’s_ milky-white surface.

Brienne nodded. “Yes, my Lord. Ser Arthur Dayne was one of the noblest knights in Westerosi history. It’s said that only Ser Duncan the Tall could be his equal.”

“No, my Lady Ser, my uncle had no equal.” Ned’s bright purple eyes dimmed. “He was the last _Sword of the Morning_ , an honor so rare, I only know of three men in our lineage to be bestowed it.”

“Yet Prince Aegon has been so honored.” Manfrey looked hard a Griff. “Not only that, but he was sure he would claim _Dawn_. As Lord Dayne says, only a handful of men have been bestowed the honor in the entire history of House Dayne. What gave you such surety, your Grace?”

The castellan’s tone was polite enough but his dark eyes were hard. There was no denying _Dawn_ had chosen Griff but Manfrey was right to question it. How had Griff known _Dawn_ would accept him and honor the world with another _Sword of the Morning_? Was it because the Gods needed such a skilled fighter, armed with such an unmatched weapon, for the Great War?

If Griff was annoyed by the blunt question, he didn’t show it. “I knew I’d claim _Dawn_ because I trust Brienne,” he said, shifting his smile to her.

“What does Lady Ser Brienne have to do with it?” Ned demanded, his voice noticeably rising. “She is not of House Dayne and has no influence on our decisions.”

Griff’s eyes tightened slightly as he looked to his cousin. Only Brienne, standing so close to her king, noticed it. The smile remained on his face but cooled as he looked to Ned.

“No, she is not but I trust her counsel.” There was a subtle warning in his tone. “She told me a great and terrible threat was rising in the North. I believed her and began to study what was written about the last Long Night. History repeats. Human nature doesn’t change, but it does adjust to changing circumstances. Just as the moon goes through phases, so does human history. Understanding the past gives us clues to understanding the future.”

“Did you learn something new, your Grace?” Brienne demanded eagerly. “Do you know how to end the Long Night?”

“No,” Griff admitted. “There was very little true information. We know the previous Long Night did end and the Night’s Watch was created to guard the realms of men.  Therefore, there is a way to defeat the Army of the Dead. The details were not in any of the scrolls I studied but we still have other avenues of research. It was while I was in Volantis that I learned of the prophecy that foretold the prince who was promised would become the new _Sword of the Morning_.”

Tyrion frowned. “I hadn’t heard such a prophecy.”

“No?” Griff glanced at the Hand. “It was repeated frequently in the scrolls and spoken on the streets of Volantis. Even King Jaehaerys believed the prince who was promised would be born from the line of Aerys and Rhaella. I am the son of their son, the descendant of their bloodline.”

“Queen Daenerys is also of their bloodline,” Tyrion pointed out. “In fact, as their daughter, she’s their immediate descendant. High Valyrian is genderless. The prophecies could just as easily mean the _princess_ who was promised.”

“But Daenerys doesn’t refer to herself as princess, does she?” Griff countered. “She calls herself queen because she considers that a more powerful title. There’s just one place in Westeros where being a prince or princess surpasses being a king or queen. I, Aegon _Martell_ Targaryen, have the bloodline to be the Prince of Dorne.”

Tyrion opened his mouth but no words emerged. Griff’s argument was logical. The Dornish, who had never been conquered by the Targaryens, had kept their customs. They knew no king or queen, only a ruling prince or princess. The prophecies all stated a prince or princess, not to a king or queen, would save Westeros. Only Dorne allowed a prince or princess to rule thus only Dorne could produce the prophesied savior.

“Nor could Daenerys fulfill the other part of the prophecy,” Griff held up _Dawn_ , the milky-white sword glowing brightly as it continued to absorb sunlight. “Only a warrior of House Dayne can become the new _Sword of the Morning_. I’m heir to both the Queen of Westeros and the Princess of Dorne. Brienne believes the Gods guide her through prophecy. If Brienne trusts the prophecies and I trust Brienne, then it follows that I believed the prophecy foretelling I would become the new _Sword of the Morning_.”

“Forgive me, your Grace,” Podrick said quietly. “I’ve tried to note all the prophecies we’ve been given. I’ve not heard of one that says the prince who was promised would become the new _Sword of the Morning_.” 

Podrick looked around, as if to ask the other if they knew of this prophecy. Tyrion shook his head while Jaime and Bronn exchanges tense glances. Sandor wore his usual scowl while the Dornish lords looked blankly at each other. Podrick turned back to Griff, his brow furrowed.

“Yes, you have heard it, Podrick,” Griff assured. “You simply didn’t understand it. The prophecy says ‘The prince who was promised will bring the _Dawn_.’ I am the _Prince_ of Dorne and now I carry _Dawn_. I will bring it into battle to defend all of Westeros.”

 _The prince who was promised will bring the_ Dawn _._

A shiver ran down Brienne’s spine, similar to the charge she’d felt the first time she’d touched Lord Beric Dondarrion’s sword. Griff was right. They had heard the prophecy before but they’d misunderstood its interpretation. Daenerys thought it meant she was to end the Long Night, lead the world to a new day dawning. No one had considered that _dawn_ had a different meaning. Just as Daenerys had thought Mirri Maz Duur’s curse referred to a ‘sun’ in the sky instead of a ‘son’ in her arms, they’d thought ‘dawn’ mean daybreak. Instead, the Gods were trying to lead them to the legendary sword of House Dayne.

There was a moment of shocked silence as everyone absorbed the new information. Griff carefully laid the precious sword against the base of the Iron Throne. The sword glowed even whiter against the blackened remains of the throne of Targaryen kings. The sharp, clean lines and purity of the sword contrasted with the corruption of the burnt and twisted metal. Some of the crushing pressure eased from Brienne’s soul as the wondrous sword pulled at something deep inside her.

Standing at the foot of the steps in front of Griff, she saw the change in the men’s expressions. She watched as comprehension settled over their features, including those of the Dornish lords. Tyrion, Jaime and Bronn froze, their eyes widening. Even Sandor’s face was wiped clean of his usual scowl. They finally understood. The Gods _were_ guiding them, once they opened their minds to the multilayered nature of prophecy. The Prince of Dorne was the new _Sword of the Morning_ , fulfilling a long-told promise, identifying another warrior and the weapon he would carry into battle against the Night King.

Now the Dornish lords comprehended what they were facing. If the prophecy was true, then the Night King was also truth. The threat was real. No longer could they focus on their war for land, vengeance and dominance. The enemy they faced would strike them all down, if it was allowed to. The armies of men must gather together. The Gods were positioning them for the upcoming battle. They were now one step closer to the war against the Army of the Dead.

“War is coming,” Ned said quietly, his voice almost quivering. “We face an enemy that can raise the dead, thus has an inexhaustible army. The only thing that protects us is the Wall enchanted by the Old Gods.”

“And water,” Sandor added. “The dead who fell through the ice into the water, didn’t rise while we were there.”

“But they can rise, can’t they?” Manfrey demanded.  “That’s why Jon Snow gathers armies to man the Night’s Watch castles along the Wall. They expect the lost dragon to rise again. If the dragon can rise, why can’t the dead?”

“Only things that hold air can rise,” Griff explained. “Throw a stone into the water and it will stay down. Tear a hole in a ship and it will not sink until the water forces the air out of the cavities. The dragon will rise but the bones will not.”

“So, what can we do?” Anders asked. “How do we fight an enemy who cannot be defeated?”

“The armies of men defeated it before,” Griff reminded him. “Five thousand years ago, there was another Long Night.”

“Five thousand years ago, we had magic and those who could use it,” Manfrey pointed out. “Now, we cannot even find records of those battles.”

“Magic is returning,” Griff argued. “The dragons are proof of that. There will be records. We simply haven’t found them yet.”

“Your Grace, the search for information has already begun,” Brienne interjected. “Jon Snow was Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch before he became the King in the North. He sent a learned man, Samwell Tarly, a former steward who served under your Grand-Uncle Aemon, to Oldtown. We hope Samwell will find useful records there.”

“Good,” Griff nodded. “Jon Snow and the Night’s Watch have fought these creatures before. He learns from every encounter. His army destroyed thousands north of the Wall. There is no better man to lead the watchers on the Wall.”

“But Jon Snow isn’t a good battle commander,” Manfrey countered. “I heard about the battle for Winterfell. He met his enemy on open ground, was goaded into breaking from his troops and would have lost the battle if not for the Knights of the Vale.”

“Knights who are no longer in Winterfell,” Anders added. “Simply marching into battle against an army of bones won’t work, with or without the Knights of the Vale. Even powerful fighters such as the Dothraki and the Unsullied are useless battling head to head against an inexhaustible army that cannot be destroyed.”

“Lord Yornwood, the enemy can be destroyed.” Tyrion, having recovered from his shock, came to join them.  “We’ve already discovered that fire, dragonglass and Valyrian steel can destroy these creatures.”

Anders looked past Griff to the mangled remains of the Iron Throne. “Where are these weapons now?”

“The Valyrian steel weapons are being cleaned and their pommels repaired, the dragonglass is being fashioned into swords, arrowheads and daggers while the fire…” Tyrion paused to look at the young dragons, “is with us.”

“Lord Hand, I notice you have no fear of the dragons.” Ned looked from Tyrion to Serdun, close enough for the Hand to touch, then back again. “Nor do the dragons have anger towards you. How is it that you, a Lannister, can walk among them?”

Tyrion’s smile towards the dragons was almost affectionate. “Dragons are very intelligent, my Lord. Some say they are even more intelligent than men. Dragons understand emotions and sense intent. That allows them to judge men and their characters better than we can. They won’t harm me because they know I have no ill intentions towards them or their mother.”

“Mother?” Manfrey repeated. “The dragons respond to Prince Aegon. They are his dragons.”

“Brienne and I share the dragons, Ser Manfrey,” Griff explained. “She is their mother and I am their father.”

“What?’ Jaime jerked visibly. “You can’t be their father. The big dragon, Drogon, is their _real_ father.” 

Brienne gasped at the sudden, aching pain blooming in her heart. Almost as soon as he spoke the words, Jaime’s eyes widened. He seemed to realize how much his statement would wound both the man who had nurtured and protected the young dragons and the woman who’d left them in his care. Not only had Griff sheltered the five from only three days after their birth, he had done it without Brienne for nearly half of the dragons’ lives.

Griff came down so he was on the step above Brienne. He leaned so close to her that she could feel his heat against her back. Again, the Dornish lords looked from Griff to her then back to their new prince, their bodies rigid as they waited for his response. Tyrion drew in his breath sharply, staring at his brother in horror. Podrick instinctively leaned away, trying to avoid the oncoming confrontation.

Griff’s eyes cooled to glacial calm. “Real is based upon who an offspring loves and who guards and guides that offspring in return. You should understand, Kingslayer. Merely giving your seed didn’t make you a father. Cersei’s children didn’t love or respect you, did they?”

_“I’d gone to Dorne to bring Myrcella back after we received a threat on her life. She died on the voyage back to King’s Landing. She died in my arms,” Jaime’s voice broke, “just after she told me she was glad I was her father.”_

At least one of Jaime’s children had known he was her father and rejoiced in it. Jaime had been given a single moment of happiness with Myrcella before her death. Griff’s comments were cruel in the face of Jaime’s losses. Tyrion hurried to his brother’s side while Bronn, normally cool and cynical, looked at him with concern. Jaime seemed unable to respond, his eyes dark and devastated, his skin so pale it made his bruises stand out in contrast.

Brienne’s heart wrenched as she watched Jaime’s pained reaction. He swayed on his feet, as if Griff’s barb was a physical blow that had injured him. Tyrion looked at his brother with concern while Bronn subtly shifted closer to the devastated former Kingsguard. Still, she understood how Jaime’s careless declaration had hurt and angered the new Prince of Dorne. Even she was pained by it. No one, not even she, could have protected and trained the dragons as well as Griff had.

Griff stepped down beside her, so he was on level with the five. The dragons shifted closer, while Catren and Allwyn laid their heads against his legs. The dragons made it clear their love and loyalty was with their chosen father. Griff had made significant sacrifices to protect and guide the dragons, keeping them safe, hidden and disciplined. He’d put aside his own plans to take the Seven Kingdoms to nurture the five. He’d even guarded them while she’d returned to Westeros to fulfill her vow to Lady Catelyn.

Griff knew the five he raised would soon rule the world. Protecting and guiding them was crucial to shaping the boundaries they would one day redefine. Yes, Jaime’s sons had become kings, but their power had been brittle and easily taken. Would they have become different men had Jaime had played a more active role in their upbringing? Possibly, but Jaime, already damaged by the cruelty of serving the Mad King and the injustice of his Kingslayer reputation, had barely been able to hold himself together. He hadn’t had the desire or seen the need to try to mold Joffery or Tommen into different men. Time and circumstances had worked against him and his sons. Then time had run out, leaving Jaime and Tyrion as the last of their once-noble house.

“Drogon _chose_ me to father these five,” Griff continued ruthlessly. “The dragon came to observe me in Essos. It knew I’d be an excellent father who would protect the dragons and teach them to be disciplined and honorable. I won’t allow them to abuse their power or corrupt their destinies. Did you take such important points into consideration when you chose to foist your bastards on Robert Baratheon?” 

Jaime shuddered visibly. He’d had controlled very little of his own life, choosing to respond to the people and events around him. Tywin, Aerys and Cersei had seen the man they’d wanted to see, the heir, the pawn and the lover, and had tried to force him into those roles. They’d been successful, to a point. But once away from their poisonous influences, Jaime had started to define his own future. Now he was lost, without the touchstones of his past, without a future to go towards. Only her unshakeable belief that the Gods had a plan for him kept him moving forward. Jaime knew he’d made terrible choices and was suffering the results of them. Brienne couldn’t bear to see his pain, knowing how deeply he regretted the mistakes of his past.

“These dragons are highly intelligent and have only killed once,” she spoke, desperate to take the focus away from Jaime. “The Ironborn King, Euron Greyjoy, attacked Daenerys and threatened me. Gallan killed him to defend us. They have never used their power to harm an innocent.”

“In fact, these dragons are so intelligent, they’ve saved lives,” Podrick added eagerly.

Her squire told of how the dragons had understood the orphaned babies needed care, had broken their protective line to accept the babes and how Allwyn had coaxed little girl, who Brienne had named Ela, out of her fear.  

“Ela. Why did you name the child Ela?” Manfrey demanded harshly. He stared at Brienne, color flushing into his face.

 Brienne frowned at the throbbing emotion coming from the castellan of Sunspear. The dragons, picking up on his antagonism, growled warningly. Ardayn, Serdun and Gallan broke from their formation to fly to Brienne, landing in front of her. Catren and Allwyn no longer pressed against Griff, spreading their wings as they moved in front of him, hissing in warning. Manfrey stepped back quickly, as did all the other Dornish men.

“I…I meant no offense,” the castellan assured. “I was shocked to hear the name again, after so many years.”

“I meant no harm in it, my Lord,” Brienne assured, kneeling down to restrain Ardayn and Serdun. “I’d actually named the child Jorrāelagon, or ‘love’ in High Valyrian. But it’s such a long name for a small child, I decided to call her Ela until she grew into it.”

She saw Podrick soothe Gallan while Griff wrapped his arms around Catren and Allwyn. The dragons, sensing Manfrey’s easing tension, relaxed. The Dornishmen also relaxed in reaction but kept a safe distance from the dragons. Brienne kept her arms around her most ardent guards.

“Why does the name cause you to react as such, Ser Manfrey?” Griff demanded, still keeping a firm hold on Catren and Allwyn.

For just an instant, Manfrey’s face crumpled. It was so quick they wouldn’t have seen it if they weren’t watching him closely. The castellan rallied quickly and the grief was gone almost as fast as it appeared.

“As a babe, your mother couldn’t pronounce her own name,” Manfrey explained softly. “Ela was her childhood name as well. Her death, and the rest of our family’s, are wounds that fester to this day. The Lannisters tried to destroy our house.”

Brienne stared at the castellan, heat washing over her in waves. She had unintentionally named the sweet little girl from the streets of King’s Landing after Griff’s mother. She knew the Gods had a plan and were moving people into position to defend the realm of men. They were leading her to the people and the tools that would help the army of men battle the Night King. What role did Jorrāelagon play in the Gods’ plans?

Griff looked from Manfrey to Jaime and Tyrion, quiet rage simmering in his purple eyes. His focus was on his mother’s death, not on Ela’s life. Tywin Lannister’s ambitions had almost destroyed House Nymeros Martell. Griff stared hard at the sons of the man who’d ordered Elia and Rhaenys’s deaths. Jaime was the Kingsguard who had ignored his prince’s order to protect his family. Jaime and Tyrion were the brothers of the woman whose manipulations had led to Oberyn, Doran and Trystane’s death. Jaime and Tyrion looked at each other. Jaime shifted so Tyrion was half-hidden behind him but kept his face expressionless. He was ready for whatever the Dornish wanted to do to him.

Brienne tightened her hold on Ardayn and Serdun as the tension rose again. The Dornishmen backed even further away from the dragons. Sandor also began to shuffle away whole Bronn stiffened, his eyes wide.

“Your Grace…” Brienne began.

 Griff looked at her, the fire in his eyes icing over so suddenly it sent a chill down her spine. He took a deep breath, released Catren and Allwyn, and rose to his feet.

“Their deaths are never far from my mind, Ser Manfrey,” Griff assured him. “That’s why we’ve agreed to give Gregor Clegane to Dorne. He was their executioner. Dorne will also have Cersei Lannister, mother of bastard kings and daughter of the demon lord.”  

“What about these two,” Anders, safely out of the dragons’ range, called. He gestured to Jaime and Tyrion. “They’re Lannister, also part of the treachery that lead to the deaths of the ruling Prince and his family. Why do they stand among us? Their heads should be mounted on the walls around King’s Landing.”

Griff looked at Brienne, his eyes now back to their normal color, the harsh emotions held tightly under his control. “It will serve no purpose to kill men who can aid us in the Great War. Brienne has assured me they have important roles to play in all of our survival.”

“What important roles?” Manfrey demanded. “A former Kingsguard who has betrayed every one of his vows and an imp short enough for me to piss over?”

“Ser Manfrey, I understand you are angry but allowing more people to die will not appease your anger,” Brienne pointed out gently. “Nor will it help us to win the Great War.”

Tyrion took a deep breath and stepped out from behind Jaime. He met Brienne’s gaze briefly before releasing the air in his lungs. He touched the Hand of the Queen pin fastened to his jacket and straightened his shoulders. He came to stand near Griff and turned to face the Dornish lords. Brienne had to admire the raw courage it took for the dwarf to face a room full of tall, powerful, angry men. Tyrion knew he had a role to play, a duty to perform and a kingdom to save.

“The enemy we face will not differentiate between Lannister or Martell, Ser Manfrey,” Tyrion said quietly. “Not between Northman or Dornishman, not between men of honor and men of shame, not even between tall, strong men or short, intelligent men. We cannot allow what divides us to be greater than what binds us. If we war amongst ourselves, we won’t need the Army of the Dead to kill us. But if we stand together, we can save ourselves and the future of all of Westeros.”

Anders glared at Tyrion. “You speak with a silver tongue, imp. Do you propose to talk this Night King into surrender?”

“No, the Night King will not surrender,” Tyrion admitted. “But I will talk to intelligent men and remind them of their duties. You each lead a great house, houses that must have responsible leaders to remain standing. How will you justify the destruction of those you care for, if the reason for our defeat is your unwillingness to put their needs above your anger? Will you allow all of Dorne to perish just to punish us?”

The Hand’s tongue was silver but his words were the brutal truth. Stand together to fight or stand apart to die. War was coming. The Night King and his Army of the Dead could break free of the Wall’s enchantments any day. Then, if aided by an undead dragon, he could unleash a reign of terror that would destroy the entire world. Time could not be stopped, turned back or recovered. Time would not long be on their side. 

Behind Tyrion, the magical sword _Dawn_ glowed and pulsed, almost as if absorbing his words, soaking in his energy. It was a beacon in the encroaching darkness, drawing in the attention and essence of everyone in the room. Almost as one, they all looked at it, mesmerized by its purity and beauty. Surely the world could not come to such an ugly end if such beauty existed in it. Brienne stared at the sword and she _knew_.

The prince who was promised will bring the _Dawn_.

Then _Dawn_ would bring the sun.


	36. Sand Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normally people would back away from the five or watch them with a frightened fascination, unable to look away from the most powerful creatures in King’s Landing. These men and nurses looked at her with fear, as if they were more afraid of her than the dragons.

### Chapter 36: Sand Keeper

 

Brienne led Allwyn and Gallan into the maester’s chambers. She opened the door and the dragons dove into the room. They hoovered just inside the doorway, close enough to guard her but also high enough to look around. Immediately, the master and his assistants, until then busy in their work, froze. Their eyes widened as they looked from her to the dragons then back to her. A hush descended on the room as all heads turned to face her.

“Good afternoon,” she greeted.

“Welcome, my Lady Ser. It’s good to see you again.” Ser Balon, standing near the windows, nodded to her.

The maester, his assistants and the wet nurses nodded back, too frightened to speak. Both women had babies to their breasts and looked at her with wide, fearful eyes. Moqorro, who had been at the far end of the room, near where the babies lay, walked closer to her. Still, he maintained a safe distance from the dragons. The Red Priest gave her his usual sad smile.

“Greetings, my Lady Ser,” he said in his polite, grave tone.

Allwyn and Gallan looked around the room. They flapped their wings and began to squawk, sniffing the air as they took flight. The poor women shrank back, fear clear in their eyes. Brienne didn’t know much about nursing babies but she knew fear made the body freeze up. The dragons, in their eagerness to find their playmates, were disrupting the care of those same patients.

“Allwyn, Gallan, māzigon naejot issa,” Brienne called. She smiled at the women. “I apologize for their behavior. They’re very excited to see the children.”

The women stared at her, confusion warring with their fear, as if she spoke a language they didn’t understand. The dragons sniffed again before reluctantly returning to her side. She knew what, or rather, who they were looking for. Even though they came to her, they still looked around, whining low in their throats. 

“Where’s Ela?” she asked, looking from Moqorro to Balon.

“She’s sleeping, my Lady Ser,” Balon answered.

Brienne looked out the window behind his shoulder. Much of the day had already passed. The sun was high in the sky. She’d awoken late then spent the rest of the morning with the Dornish lords. The constant threat of _Dragonbinder_ and the Night King had broken up their gathering. Podrick, Bronn and Sandor had gone back to their search for the horn. Jamie had left to meet the newest army arrivals. Tyrion had suggested Griff and the Dornish lords join him.

Griff had urged Brienne to return to the babies. Seeing there was no need for her to view the troops, Brienne had opted to visit the children and check on their progress. Several of the babies were resting on the cots, along with the two held by the wet nurses. But Ela wasn’t here. Was it normal for a child to sleep so much?

“Is she well?” Brienne asked. “Is she sleeping properly?”

“Very well, my Lady Ser,” Moqorro assured her. “She slept deeply last night and ate nearly half a plum this morning.”

The dragons whined again, looking around but staying at Brienne’s side. The maester and his assistants looked at each other, fear clear in their eyes. The wet nurses shrank in their seats but had nowhere to go with the hungry babes in their arms.

Brienne looked around at the caregivers. She knew people feared the dragons but this was a different fear. Normally people would back away from the five or watch them with a frightened fascination, unable to look away from the most powerful creatures in King’s Landing. These men and nurses looked at _her_ with fear, as if they were more afraid of her than the dragons. She looked into Moqorro’s eyes, at the sadness that was deeper than she remembered, and cold dread touched her heart.

“Where is she now?” Brienne demanded. “Where’s Ela?”

As if on cue, a thin cry rose from behind the partial shut door at the far end of the room. Allwyn and Gallan cried out in response, flapping their wings again. Moqorro moved slowly toward the door, while still keeping the dragons in his sight. Brienne knelt to put her arms around the two, holding them close, as the priest knocked on the door. 

“Enter,” a tired but melodious female voice responded.

The priest slipped into the room and returned a moment later with Ela in his arms. The babe looked sleepy and disgruntled but also brighter and less anxious. Tears ran down her thin cheeks but her eyes brightened when she saw the dragons. Her shriek of delight was matched by Allwyn and Gallan, who strained forward to greet her.

Moqorro stopped, looking from Brienne to the dragons. Then the priest took a deep, visible breath and walked slowly, carefully closer to the dragons. Ela, who didn’t share most people’s fear of the dragons, twisted in his arms, reaching out for her friends. The Red Priest’s face shone with sweat as he carefully placed the baby on the floor, just out of the dragon’s reach. He backed away just as slowly, apparently trying not to alarm the most dangerous beings in the known world.

Once Moqorro backed away, Brienne released Allwyn and Gallan. The dragons immediately went to Ela and crouched close, sniffing and touching the babe, assuring themselves she was indeed well. The baby shrieked again and grabbed at their necks, using them as leverage to rise to her feet. Brienne put her arms out and Ela, helped by her hold on the dragons, determinedly made her way closer. Finally, she was close enough for Brienne to embrace. The babe did feel a bit more solid, the skeletal arms around her neck just the tiniest bit stronger and her deep brown eyes now clearer and brighter.

After embracing her one more time, Brienne gave Ela back to her playmates, both of whom were ready to help balance the child. Brienne rose and looked around again. Other that Moqorro, no one else had moved, not even Balon. Something was terribly off here.

“Ser Balon, have you been here the entire time?” Brienne asked.

The knight shook his head stiffly. “No, my Lady Ser. Lord Tyrion brought guards to relieve me when he last came to see the babes. And last night, the king and your squire also came to visit.”

Brienne blinked in surprise. “They did? I didn’t know that.”

Balan nodded to Allwyn and Gallan. “Yes, they brought these two and the brown dragon with them. I inquired after your health. King Aegon said you were resting.”

A shiver of unease slid down Brienne’s spine. Griff and Podrick had come here last night but neither had mentioned it. Podrick had been busy all morning finding the sword _Lightning_ but Griff had been with her. _She_ had told him about Ela this morning and he hadn’t said he’d already been to the maester’s chamber. Why would he keep that information from her? Again, she looked at the tense faces surrounding her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked Balon.

Color flushed into the knight’s face. “We lost two babes during the night,” he admitted.

“What?” She turned to stare at Moqorro. “Why? How did it happen?”

Moqorro smiled his sad smile. “It is the nature of life, my Lady Ser. We each, when our Lord wills us, must die. Each life must end for, without death, life holds no meaning. Only death pays for life.”

“The babes refused to feed,” Balon explained gently. “The women tried but the babes wouldn’t take milk. They were too weak to survive.”

Brienne stared at him, defeat weighing heavily on her heart. She knew the babies were fragile, perhaps too weak to nurse. She’s seen too much of this kind of suffering while traveling the lawless Riverlands with Jaime. But she’d thought she’d gotten to them in time, that these babies, unlike so many before them, would have a chance.

“My Lady Ser, Ela grows stronger.” Balon came closer to her, his voice still gentle. “We may have lost some of the babes but others, like Ela, will live. No matter how hard we try, we cannot save everyone. We must rejoice in our success and accept our losses.”

Brienne nodded and dropped her head. She knew and accepted loss. She’d lost people who had mattered to her before; her mother, her brother, King Renly and Lady Catelyn. She’d seen death and even delivered it, but her kills had been justified. The men she’d killed had been intent on harming her or those in her care. Tiny babies, thrown away as if they had no value, was another kind of death, and harder for her to accept.

Past Balon, movement outside the window caught her attention. She walked to the windows to see three bright birds soaring across the sky. She smiled when she realized they weren’t birds. It was the other three dragons. She’d left Catren, the dragons’ leader, along with Ardayn and Serdun, her most ardent guards, with Griff. They’d gone to inspect the troops with the Dornish lords.

Tyrion had made the suggestion to the Dornishmen. Brienne admired the shrewd logic behind the Hand’s offer. The Lannister forces were reassembling. The men from the Crownlands and from the nearer keeps of the Reach and the Stormlands were already here. The Westerland troops and the men from further south were still several days away but the crown’s army was already impressive. They’d taken over the makeshift camp on the tourney grounds previously created for Daenerys’s khalasar.   

Observing the Lannister forces would show the Dornish how strong and fierce the crown’s forces were and would become. It was a warning to the Dornishmen that they’d face a powerful, battle-hardened opposition if they still considered attacking King’s Landing or Highgarden. They’d also seen how fierce and disciplined the young dragons already were. That should be enough to assure the lords of retaliation from Drogon and Rhaegal if they dared harm the young dragons.

It also gave the Dornish a chance to see Jaime as Lord Commander of the southern forces. The lords had only heard bad things about Jaime and thought the worst of him. Seeing the respect his men had for him would be a new experience for the Dornish lords. Jon had faith in Jaime, had put him in charge of the crown’s forces and had included Jaime in troop inspections and battle planning. The Dornish lords and Griff had to develop the same confidence if they were to go into battle together against the Army of the Dead.

Brienne turned away from the sight of the dragons swooping down from the sky. The maester, his assistants and the wet nurses still watched her with frightened concern. She forced herself to smile and nod at them.

“I thank you all for your efforts,” she commended them. “The children were in grave condition when we brought them to you. None of the babes would have survived without your help. Seven blessings to you all.”

The fear eased out of their expressions as relief relaxed their features. They repeated the blessing back to her, hopeful smiles replacing the grim stiffness. Then Brienne understood their fear. They thought _she_ would do them harm, or order the dragons to harm them, for having lost two babes. They were used to suffering under the brutality of Cersei and Joffrey and the ineffectual rule of Tommen. Their reigns had spread fear and mistrust throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

She went to check on the other babes, each still weak and struggling to survive. Her heart ached to see them fighting so hard while so helpless. What would happen even if they did survive? She couldn’t expect the maester to keep them indefinitely. Sending them back to the streets with Moqorro would only begin the cycle of illness and starvation again. Along with these babes, there were children like Cara, orphans in a city where so many didn’t have the means to care for themselves, let alone abandoned children.

She didn’t fault Jon and Daenerys for focusing on the threat of the Night King. The Army of the Dead could destroy all of Westeros. No one would be alive for them to save if they didn’t defeat the threat beyond the Wall. But there were so many who could not wait and needed to be saved now. Griff was here. This should be his focus while Daenerys and Jon prepared the kingdom for the Great War.

She’d just decided to talk to him when the far door, which had been only partly ajar, opened. An extremely thin woman with chin-length dark curls and faded olive skin stood in the doorway. She leaned heavily on the frame, as though her slight body weight was too much for her to carry. Moqorro went to the woman’s side and offered her his hand. The woman accepted his support and allowed him to assist her to the table near the door. An assistant put a goblet on the table while the woman sat in the chair the Red Priest pulled out for her.

“Lady Ser Brienne of Tarth,” the woman said in a weak but still musical voice. “It’s a pleasure to meet the love and the mother of dragons. I am Ellaria Sand.”

Brienne’s eyes widened. This was the woman who had poisoned Jaime’s daughter, killed Princes Doran and Trystane and sided with Daenerys in the war against Cersei. In retaliation, Euron had killed two of Prince Oberyn’s daughters, his Sand Snakes, at sea. Cersei had poisoned Oberyn’s daughter Tyene and forced Ellaria to watch her death. Ellaria had only survived the weeks in the dark, dirty black cells due to Qyburn’s strengthening tonics.

_“That witch will die,” Cersei vowed. “She’ll die as slowly and painfully as I can manage it.”_

Brienne remembered Cersei’s rage when she’d talked about Ellaria. But the Dornishwoman was also Daenerys’s ally. She and Jon must have had Ellaria moved to the maester’s chamber when they’d inspected the prisoners. It was obvious Ellaria was still weak from her ordeal. Her hands shook visibly as she used both to bring the goblet to her lips.

“Lady Sand,” Brienne greeted.

She was unsure how to address this woman. She looked like a perfect lady, with her fine features and straight posture. She was the bastard daughter of a Dornish lord and had been Oberyn’s long-time lover. She was mother to four of his Sand Snakes. All accounts said she was a kind and loving mother. Yet Ellaria had killed both Jaime and Griff’s families. Had revenge or grief pushed her to kill then into the alliance with Daenerys? Was she friend or foe?

“I am no Lady,” Ellaria corrected, echoing the phrase Brienne had often said to define herself. “You may call me Ellaria, my Lady Ser.”

She put the goblet back down with careful precision and sighed deeply. It appeared the small act had used up much of her strength. Still, her dark eyes were focused and determined. The weeks in captivity had done little to dull her dusky beauty. Her cheeks were flushed from the exertion and her eyes were clear. She smiled down at Ela, guarded by Gallan and Allwyn, across the room from her. 

“Have you come to take me to the hearing?” Ellaria looked up to Brienne again.

“No, I came to see the children.” Brienne shook her head and frowned.

She knew nothing about a hearing. Who would request Ellaria attend a hearing and why? This woman had harmed both the Lannisters and the Martells, murdered members of their families. But Ellaria was also the mother of three remaining Sand Snakes, the daughters of Prince Oberyn. She had sided with Daenerys and had given Qyburn a contact in Dorne. Clearly, the woman still had influence among the Dornish.

“Prince Aegon is a good man,” Ellaria spoke, looking back at Ela and the dragons again. “I see so much Martell in him. He was fortunate to have inherited his Uncle Doran’s intelligence and his mother’s kindness. But he also has his Uncle Oberyn’s hot blood. He’ll rule wisely but only if he curbs his temper. Oberyn was never able to control his rage, his desire to avenge his sister and his niece. He would still be alive today if he’d only been able to let go of that anger.”

Brienne looked down at the dragons. Gallan and Allwyn had barely reacted to Ellaria. Then she recalled Balon saying they’d come last night with Griff, Podrick and Catren. Ellaria didn’t bother the dragons since they’d already met her the night before. Griff hadn’t mentioned seeing Ela because Griff had come to meet Ellaria. He’d met with the woman who had murdered his uncle Doran and cousin Trystane.

“You cannot fault the king for having anger against you. You’re the woman who murdered his uncle and his cousin,” Brienne pointed out. 

“Those are Lannister lies.” Ellaria’s eyes flashed as she looked up from Ela and the dragons. “Along with the false stories of their love and concern for Princess Mrycella. They didn’t have love for Mrycella, any more than I had hatred for my children’s uncle or cousin. I would never harm Prince Doran, who treated me as a sister or Prince Trystane, who loved my daughters as _his_ sisters.”

Brienne blinked, unsure how to respond. Ellaria seemed so sure in her claims, her gaze direct and clear, her hands clenched into fists and her posture straight and upright. The woman believed her own insistence that she’d done no harm to Jaime or Griff’s kin. But Myrcella had died in Jaime’s arms while Trystane had died onboard the ship bringing them back from Dorne. Was it possible Ellaria was innocent? Perhaps she hadn’t known Oberyn’s daughters would assassinate the ruling Prince of Dorne and his heir?

A knock on the door interrupted her before Brienne could consider further on the topic. She hurried to kneel beside the dragons and Ela. The dragons looked up from the babe to stare at the still closed door. It was opened to several men in Lannister guard’s uniform. The men quickly put their hands behind their backs when they saw the dragons.

“Pardon, my Lady Ser.” The lead guard’s voice trembled as he addressed Brienne. “Lord Tyrion has requested we bring the prisoner, Ellaria Sand, to the Throne Room.”

Brienne’s sense of unease grew. No one had told her of a meeting in the Throne Room. Was Griff aware of what Tyrion was doing? Why did the Hand want to see the frail woman who was accused of masterminding the murders of Myrcella, Doran and Trystane? He had to know how weak she was. He’d come to see the children. Why wouldn’t he come to her? And why meet in the Throne Room instead of the smaller council room they’d been using since the dragons had taken King’s Landing?

Ellaria rose slowly and shuffled to the doors. Her progress was slow and noticeably strained. Even walking across the room tired the woman. How would she ever make it to the Throne Room? The guards stood by the door and waited, watching the dragons instead of the woman. Finally, Balon stepped forward.

“May I offer my assistance?” the courtly knight questioned.

Ellaria hesitated, wiping at the thin layer of sweat over her brow. She looked from the kindly knight to the stiff guards then to Brienne. Brienne rose from the dragons and nodded to the woman. Prolonging her suffering would not lead to the answers Tyrion seemed to want from her.

“Lord Tyrion is very busy running the capital in Queen Daenerys’s absence,” Brienne pointed out. “If he wishes to see you, he’ll want to come quickly.”

Ellaria turned back to Balon and nodded. The knight carefully lifted the frail woman into his arms. The contrast between the two was striking. Ellaria, with her frail figure and dark hair, was almost lost in the knight’s powerful, steady arms. His pale skin and light brown hair seemed more pronounced against Ellaria’s dark curls. Balon turned to Brienne, barely even registering Ellaria’s weight in his arms.

“My Lady Ser, will you stay with the children?” he asked.

“No, the dragons and I will go with you,” Brienne decided. She turned to the guards. “Ser Balon and I will see the prisoner to the Throne Room. You will remain here until we return.”

The guards didn’t object. In fact, they looked relieved, probably preferring to stay with harmless babies than following fire-breathing dragons. The men eased into the room, careful to stay away from the dragons. Brienne took Ela from Gallan and Allwyn and hugged her as she carried the baby to Moqorro.

Ela cried as she was transferred to the Red Priest’s arms. Brienne’s heart ached as the baby tried to reach out for the dragons. Gallan and Allwyn cried too, sharps yelps that indicated they were also hurt by the separation. Still, the dragons didn’t go to the child. They knew their first duty was to their mother and her protection.

“We’ll be back soon, love,” Brienne promised as she stroked Ela’s soft dark curls.

Tears continued to fall down the babe’s face but Ela settled in Moqorro’s arms. Brienne watched sadly as she and the dragons followed after Balon. As they passed through the doorway, Brienne was surprised to see the concerned frown on Ellaria’s face.

“Moqorro will take good care of Ela.” Brienne didn’t know why she felt compelled to comfort this woman. “He was the one who saved the babies from dying in the streets.”

“She reminds me of my own daughters,” Ellaria said, the frown deepening on her face. “From the day they were born, they were all just as fierce and determined as your little Jorrāelagon. My youngest, Loreza, was also frail when she was born.” Tears filled the Dornishwoman’s eyes. “Each day, as I watched Tyene’s body wither before me, I prayed for my remaining daughters. Prince Aegon assured me they were safe and well, as eager to see me as I am to return to them.”

If true, that confirm Brienne’s suspicions that Griff had come to King’s Landing from Dorne, not Tyrosh. He’d gone to Sunspear and made his claim to the Dornish throne. He’d won enough of the Dornish lords to his side to challenge Manfrey’s right to rule. All that remained was to prove his blood claim. Griff’s understanding of prophecy had led him to _Dawn_ , proof of his blood tie to Elia Martell. His uncanny resemblance to Rhaegar, along with the dragons at his side, proved his Targaryen blood.

Brienne had expected Griff to outright take the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms. Her king proved to be far more cunning. By taking Dorne first, he now had two powerful armies at his back. When Daenerys challenged him, Griff could meet her on even footing. Their armies were about the same size and Griff had an advantage in the Dornishmen. The Dornish were fierce warriors who knew the territory and how to strike from the shadows. Even Aegon the First and his sister-wives could not hold Dorne. It was unlikely Daenerys would do any better, especially since the Prince of Dorne had dragons of his own.

Though the Gods had made her the keeper of their dragons, the five were as bonded to Griff as they were to her. They would defend their father as fiercely as they defended their mother, even against their own blood. The young dragons saw Drogon as a protective but distant uncle who was ready to come to their aid but unable or unwilling to raise and nurture them. Griff was the father the five loved and who’s admiration and praise they sought, who’s touch they craved and who’s patient guidance molded them into the disciplined warriors they were becoming.

Her troubled thoughts occupied her mind so completely, Brienne blinked when they reached the doors to the Throne Room. Balon barely seemed to notice Ellaria’s weight as he patiently stood to the side. Brienne nodded to the guards standing by the door. The men stood with their hands behind their back, standing very straight, trying hard not to look at the dragons. None attempted to open the doors, too intent on _not_ watching Allwyn and Gallan. Brienne opened the doors herself and led Balon, Ellaria and the dragons into the vast, nearly empty hall.

Griff and the Dornish lords were inside, talking quietly amongst themselves. They stopped when Brienne entered the room. Brienne thought Griff stiffened but it was hard to be sure from across the room. The men moved to one side and turned to face the single cushioned chair. The chair was near the remains of the Iron Throne but far enough away to be free of the cooled, molten steel that covered the dais, steps and floor closest to the throne. Catren, Serdun and Ardayn had taken perches along the lumps of metal, giving them the highest vantage point in the hall.

“Your Grace, Ser Balon and I have brought Ellaria Sand,” Brienne said formally.

She bowed and then stood tall and straight, as a knight should. Griff frowned at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. Brienne sensed something in her address had annoyed him. His expression smoothed when he looked beyond her to Balon still holding Ellaria in his arms. Allwyn and Catren went to join the others on the iron mound. The Dornish lords looked from her to Griff then amongst themselves. Brienne was sure she’d disturbed an intense, private conversation. The Dornish lords held themselves stiffly, as if displeased by what they’d been discussing before she arrived.

“Thank you, Lady Ser Brienne,” Griff answered her just as formally. He nodded to Balon. “Ser Balon, bring her here.”

Griff walked to the chair. Balon carried Ellaria across the room and bent down to set her on her feet. The woman held onto Balon for a moment as she struggled for balance. She gave him a grateful smile as the knight backed away from her.

“Stay, Ser Balon,” Griff requested. “We may have some questions for you. 

If Balon was surprised by the request, he didn’t show it. Instead, he nodded and moved to the side. Brienne watched, startled, as Griff indicated to the chair. Ellaria appeared equally shocked, her eyes widening. It was accepted that only the king was allowed to sit. Others had to stand in his presence unless invited to sit. This was the only chair in the room. Griff, the Prince of Dorne and the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, was giving the only chair to the woman who had murdered his uncle and cousin.

Ellaria hesitated for a few seconds before sinking into the chair, her fragile state apparent in the tired sigh. “Thank you, your Grace.”

Anders snorted. “You show too much kindness to this woman, your Grace. She’s responsible for the murder of your kin.”

Ellaria shook her head in protest. “No! I didn’t kill them. I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Many people are responsible for the murders of my kin,” Griff responded, raising his voice to be heard over Ellaria’s pleas. “We cannot question them all to learn their motives and goals, but we can question this one.”

“I had no motive,” Ellaria insisted. “I had no desire to harm my children’s family.”

“Doran didn’t want war with the Lannisters,” Manfrey growled. “This one wanted revenge for Oberyn’s death. When Doran refused to go along with her plans, she and the Sand Snakes killed Doran and Trystane.”

“Lies!” Ellaria cried. “All lies. The Lannisters are responsible. This treachery is their doing. These lies are their doing.”

“The lies are yours, you vile, hateful bitch!” a voice snarled from the doorway.

Brienne whirled around and gasped. Cersei Lannister, resplendent in a heavily embroidered gown of Lannister red with gold accents, her crown proudly atop her shorn but perfectly styled hair, stood in the doorway. Her cheeks were flushed with color and her green eyes flashed with the fire raging inside her.

The lioness had returned.


	37. Lioness Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her crown tumbled from her head but Cersei didn’t notice. The delicate gold circlet fell to the floor, bounced once then landed on its side, rocked gently, then circled to a stop with a musical tinkling. Cersei brushed past the symbol of what she’s sacrificed her whole life to achieve.

### Chapter 37 – Lioness Keeper

Brienne stared at Cersei Lannister as the lioness stalked into the Throne Room. Jaime and Tyrion followed quietly behind their sister. Several Lannister guards joined them, standing just inside the doors, their arms crossed behind their backs. Cersei ignored them as she strode down the hall, her eyes flashing with rage. She looked every inch the regal, beautiful queen with her head held high and her posture perfect. Everyone turned to watch the deposed former Queen of Westeros.

The dragons squawked in warning but didn’t leave their perches. Cersei was no threat to them, no matter how angry she was. Cersei stumbled to an abrupt stop, the color draining from her face as her eyes widening with her shock. Brienne frowned at the former queen. How did Cersei manage to forget about the dragons? Everyone else in the room, from the Dornish lords to the Lannister guards, knew how dangerous they were, taking care to keep their distance from the deadliest creatures in King’s Landing. Then she realized Cersei wasn’t looking at the dragons, she was staring at Griff.

“Rhaegar.” Cersei’s voice quivered. Her whole body began to tremble visibly. “Why are you here? Why did you come back? You’re dead. Robert killed you. You deserve to be dead!”

Brienne jerked as she looked from Cersei to Griff. Having never seen Rhaegar, she had no idea just how much Griff resembled the late Prince of Dragonstone. Jaime had also gone sickly white when he’d first seen Griff, but not like Cersei. Unlike his sister, Jaime had a strong grasp on reality. He’d known the young, vibrant Griff couldn’t be Rhaegar, not after so much time had passed. Cersei, however, wasn’t Jaime.

She looked around wildly, her head whipping with such force it dislodged her crown, then turned to Jaime. “Do you see him?” Cersei demanded. “Do you see Rhaegar?”

“No, Cersei,” Jaime stepped forward. “That isn’t him. Rhaegar isn’t here.”

Cersei didn’t listen to Jaime. She whirled back to face the living image of Rhaegar Targaryen. Her crown tumbled from her head but Cersei didn’t notice. The delicate gold circlet fell to the floor, bounced once then landed on its side, rocked gently, then circled to a stop with a musical tinkling. Cersei brushed past the symbol of what she’s sacrificed her whole life to achieve and advanced on Griff.

“Yes, he is,” Cersei snarled, glaring at Griff. “Why did you come back? You chose to marry that feeble, flat-chested Elia Martell over me. You paid for it, didn’t you? Robert made you pay for it. My father made you pay for it. You’d still be alive, you’d be great, if you had married _me_.”

Brienne looked over to Griff. His hands were curled into fists but his face was composed. He remained silent, allowing Cersei to vent her rage. Beyond him, the dragons rose from their seated positions, watching from their high perches on the remains of the Iron Throne. The five were still but their bodies were tense, ready to defend their family if a true threat appeared.

Cersei threw out her hand, gesturing to the young dragons. “I should have been the mother of dragons. I should have given birth to the next generation of Targaryen kings. With me at your side and dragons at your back, you would have become the greatest, most powerful king who ever lived.”

Brienne again looked at Griff. Why didn’t he speak? But Griff wasn’t watching Cersei. No, he was looking the Dornish lords, gauging their reactions to Cersei’s ranting. The lords were silent and tense as they stared at Cersei, their disgust and dislike clear in their curled mouths and stiff stances. A chill slid down Brienne’s spine. Her king had a plan and was trying to use Cersei to his advantage. But what advantage could he gain from a near-mad woman’s shrill ravings?

“But that didn’t happen, did it?” Cersei continued with vicious satisfaction. “Because you’re dead. Do you hear me, Rhaegar? You’re _dead_. Robert killed you! Then my father and Jaime made sure your Dornish whore and her brats died as painfully as they could!”

Behind her, Jaime shuddered and stumbled back. Tyrion put his hand on his brother’s arm to steady him. The Dornish lords continued to stare at Cersei and, almost reflexively, reached for their swords. The dragons puffed and squawked angrily in response to their aggressive actions.

“No!” Brienne cried. “No swords! You’re upsetting the dragons.”

Everyone froze, including Cersei. The furious light in her eyes faded as she began to regain control of her emotions. The Dornish lords stared, wide-eyed, at the dragons as they slowly moved their hands away from their swords. The Lannister guards shifted closer to each other, crowding as near to the doors as they could get while still inside the hall.

Brienne looked towards the remains of the Iron Throne. The dragons watched from their high perches, their reptilian eyes cold and clear. They were only concerned about their family. The tension in the air had triggered their protective instincts. If she and Griff were closer, safely within the dragons’ protection, the five wouldn’t react so harshly to the other occupants in the hall. She tugged on Griff’s arm and nodded to the five. Griff squeezed her fingers and leaned closer.

“Go to them,” he murmured quietly. “I’ll be fine.”

She released him and turned for the dragons. As she did, she saw Manfrey and Andres watching her with narrowed, knowing eyes. Too late she remembered no one was allowed to touch a royal unless the royal initiated the exchange. She had just brazenly taken the arm of the new Prince of Dorne without permission and without repercussions. Then he had squeezed her hand in return, a clear indication that he wasn’t offended by her touch.

Cersei had also seen the exchange. “Don’t touch him!” she snarled. “He’s not for you, you slow-witted, round-eyed _cow_.”

It was Tyrion’s turn to stumble back as he looked from Cersei to Brienne then to Jaime. Brienne could almost see the Hand’s mind working as he blinked rapidly, assimilating Cersei’s furious taunt into his previous knowledge. Jaime flushed and reached for Cersei. But it was Griff’s icy voice that froze them all into place.

“Say one more word against Brienne and you’ll experience true pain. A pain so great you’ll beg for the torture my mother endured as a relief,” Griff snarled.

Brienne had never seen Griff this angry, not even when he’d first seen Jaime. Griff deliberately stepped in front of Brienne, blocking her from Cersei’s view. The new Prince of Dorne cut the former Queen of Westeros with a glare almost as sharp as the magical sword _Dawn_ hanging from his sword belt. She must have seen something in his face that terrified her. Cersei gasped and stumbled back. She shuddered and her face so drained of color that even her lips were bloodless.

“I’m not Rhaegar,” Griff continued. “I am Aegon Martell Targaryen.”

“No.” Cersei shook her head, lurching from Griff to turn to Jaime. “No, this can’t be. He’s dead. They’re dead. Jaime, tell him. Rhaegar, Aegon, Elia, they’re all _dead_. They can’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you?” Jaime looked at his sister, grief and sadness darkening his eyes. “They never hurt you. Aerys refused to marry you to Rhaegar and Father refused me for Elia.  Aegon wasn’t even born at the time.”

Cersei crossed to Jaime and grabbed the breastplate of his Lannister uniform. “Father promised me I would be the mother of dragons. He _promised_. I should have had many blond-haired, violet-eyed dragons. Then none of this would have happened. I should have married the prince, not the king. Then my children would be dragons, not lions. The dragons have been reborn. I should be their mother.”

She was nearly sobbing at the end, tugging on his uniform, trying to shake him. Brienne’s heart ached as she watched Jaime’s grief. Cersei had always been on the edge of madness, trying to live up to Tywin’s brutal example. She hadn’t had the cunning and might her father had to enforce his commands. She’d become queen, not because she was smart or strong, but because she’d killed all those who opposed her. But she had also killed all those who supported her and her last child. Her only touchstone left was Jaime, the brother she loved, envied and nearly destroyed.

“Cersei, Aegon is not dead.” Jaime tried to uncurl her fingers from his breastplate. “Rhaegar’s son is alive and he plans to lead the Targaryens.”

“No.” Cersei looked from Jaime’s face to his hand, seeing him try to break the link between them. “It can’t be true. The witch can’t be right. ‘Gold their crowns, gold their shrouds.’ The valonqar. I won’t let it be true!”

Ellaria, who had been silent and small, behind the Dornish lords, spoke. “Now do you believe me? She’s insane. She makes up conspiracies then punishes us for her madness.”

The Dornishmen turned to look at the frail woman. Ellaria was still seated, visibly weak but her dark eyes flashed with life. The men moved aside so Ellaria and Cersei could see each other, though they were separated by the half the length of the room. Brienne shifted so she was closer to the dragons, trying to create a buffer between the five and the spiking tension. But Griff was still standing closer to Ellaria, out of the dragons’ fire range. The five remained tense and alert.

Cersei whirled from Jaime to glare at Ellaria. “Madness? Is it madness to mourn my daughter? My only daughter? Myrcella was good. She was sweet and kind, the best thing I’d ever created, ever done. And you murdered her!”

“Lies!” Ellaria cried. “All Lannister lies! Myrcella was like a daughter to me. From the day she came to Sunspear, I welcomed her.”

“How dare you!” Cersei raged. “How dare you even speak her name.”

“It’s true!” Ellaria turned to Griff. “From the day she arrived, I treated Myrcella as a daughter. When I had new gowns made for my daughters, I always made sure Myrcella’s dresses were cut from the same material. When my daughters swam at the Water Garden, Myrcella was with them. Obara and Nymeria were even teaching her to fight with spear and whip.”

“Liar!” Cersei gasped, so angry her body shook with rage.

She curled her hands into claws as she lunged for Ellaria. She was too far away to reach the other woman before Jaime caught her. Jaime grabbed his sister around the waist and lifted her off the floor.

“Let me go!” Cersei twisted frantically to free herself from her brother’s arms. “I will kill her with my bare hands!”

The lords’ expressions hardened at witnessing the former queen’s furious tirade. Their dislike darkened to hatred as their postures stiffened. Brienne, standing close to the dragons near the remains of the throne, saw Griff look from Cersei to the lords. She watched them lean closer to each other, and to Griff, unconsciously closing ranks against the former Queen of Westeros. Griff, armed with his keen understanding of human nature and battle strategy, was exploiting their already intense hatred of the Lannisters. He’d planned this, knowing Cersei’s vitriol would push them to side with their new prince, without even knowing they were doing it.

Ellaria must have also sensed the shift in atmosphere. She turned away from Cersei’s ranting to stare at Griff, her eyes narrowed in calculation. Then she turned to look at Manfrey, allowing her lower lip to tremble pitifully. The castellan’s swarthy face was red with fury and his jaw was stiff as he met her gaze.

“What I say is true,” Ellaria insisted. “You know it’s the truth, Ser Manfrey. You were witness. Didn’t Myrcella wear gowns as beautiful and costly as my daughters? Wasn’t she with Oberyn’s daughters at every occasion? Did I not introduce her to every important guest as a member of our family? Wasn’t she learning to fight under the protection of your guards?”

Jaime was still struggling to hold Cersei. Tyrion, who had been watching them, whirled to face Ellaria and the Dornish lords. The Hand’s gaze swept over the lords, taking in their stiff postures and hard glares. Tyrion moved forward, also seeing the change in the Dornish lords’ stances and their unconscious actions to protect their new prince. Like everyone, except Jaime and Cersei, he looked at the castellan of Sunspear.

“Is this true, Ser Manfrey?” Griff asked.

Manfrey hesitated, glaring at Ellaria with visible anger. Ellaria raised her chin and used the arms of the chair to hold her body straight and upright. Even so, she still projected an air of delicate humility and weakness. Brienne frowned, unable to forget the Dornishwoman’s look of cunning when she’d stared at Griff.

“Ser Manfrey,” Griff prompted.

“Yes, it’s true,” Manfrey snarled. “But it changed. _She_ changed after Oberyn’s death.”

“My love had just died due to the continued machinations of Tywin Lannister and his poisoned seed.” Tears spilled from Ellaria’s lovely, almond-shaped eyes. “Did you expect me to attend parties so soon after his death? You blame me because I didn’t order gowns or take my daughters to swim? Their father had just been murdered by the Lannister’s dog.”

“You wanted revenge,” Manfrey reminded her. “You wanted Doran to send troops to King’s Landing. You even suggested we dismember Myrcella as payment for her family’s treacheries.”

Cersei, who had exhausted herself fighting against Jaime, howled in outrage. She fought her brother again but with noticeably less energy. Brienne looked back at the dragons. They glanced at Cersei then turned back to Manfrey. Cersei’s rage wasn’t a threat to them but Manfrey’s sword might become one, if the castellan’s flushed face was any indication. Still, Ellaria held her head high.

“In my grief and anger,” Ellaria pointed out. “Nothing came of it. I didn’t harm Myrcella. Unlike the Lannisters and their dogs, we don’t hurt little girls in Dorne. Every one of these Lannisters have innocent blood on their hands, including the blood of children. Ask them! Ask them if they haven’t murdered children to maintain their status. Ask them!”

Manfrey looked from Ellaria to Griff. Almost as one, the Dornishmen turned to look at Tyrion, Cersei and Jaime. Tyrion’s eyes widened as he backed away and looked frantically at his brother and sister. Cersei glared at them defiantly. Brienne gasped softly. What was Ellaria saying? Yes, she could easily imagine Cersei killing children but Jaime and Tyrion? Why would they commit such atrocities? Suddenly, a memory came back to her, from just after releasing the Valyrian steel swords.

_“Joffery ordered the murder of Robert’s children?” Jaime asked her, his eyes stark._

_“We did it to protect our children.” Cersei’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t forget, you’ve done the same yourself.”_

Brienne looked at Jaime pleadingly, trying desperately to believe he wasn’t capable of such a thing. Jaime’s face drained of color and his arms dropped from Cersei’s waist, a clear indication of his guilt. His closed his eyes as a shudder shook his frame. Cersei stumbled and grabbed his arm, fighting for balance. Beside them, Tyrion hung his head. Everyone stared at the Lannisters in silent condemnation except for Griff and the young dragons.

Griff turned to Brienne and the dragons, watching her with concern darkening his indigo eyes. She took deep breaths to force herself to remain stoic. The five flew down from their perches. Ardayn and Serdun landed beside her while Catren, Allwyn and Gallan went to Griff. Brienne knelt to hold her most ardent guards close. They leaned heavily into her, probably needing to be held as much as she needed to hold them. The dragons, with their greater emotional sensitivity, felt the lords’ hatred and disgust even more than she did. They also sensed how wounded she was by Jaime’s silent admission.

Griff continued to watch her, more concerned with her reaction than the lords he’d successfully manipulated into guarding him. It took effort but Brienne nodded to assure him she was fine. Only then did Griff kneel down to hold Allwyn, the most excitable dragon. He murmured comfortingly to Catren and Gallan, who leaned against him. The dragons, not yet eight months old, were like any anxious children when confronted with such harsh emotions. They needed their parents’ reassurance and support. 

Brienne looked away from Griff, her gaze suddenly trapped by Anders Yornwood. The Lord of Yornwood, leader of the second most powerful house in Dorne, looked from her to Griff then back, his eyes narrowing in cold calculation. For a moment, he reminded her unpleasantly of Euron Greyjoy. The Ironborn King had looked at her and the dragons as possible tools in his plans to become the next King of Westeros. Brienne held Anders’s gaze without flinching. Euron had died when he’d turned his sword on the five. No one would succeed in using the dragons as weapons in the wars of men.

“The Lannisters treacheries don’t excuse yours,” Manfrey insisted, drawing their attention back to himself and Ellaria. “You were responsible for Prince Doran and Prince Trystane’s deaths. Their blood is on _your_ hands!”

“That’s not true!” Ellaria protested, sinking down into the seat as her strength faded. “I didn’t kill them.”

“You lie,” Manfrey accused.

“Why would I lie?’ Ellaria protested. “You accuse me of murdering Prince Doran, brother to my dearest Oberyn. You accuse me of murdering Prince Trystane, who was as brother to my darling daughters. Why would I do such things?”

“Because Doran refused to wage war against the Lannisters,” Manfrey responded, his flush darkening with his anger. “You killed him and Trystane to take control of Dorne.”

“How could I control Dorne?” Ellaria questioned. “I have no Martell blood. My daughters have no claim to the throne. Who would support me if I tried to claim Dorne?”

Manfrey paused and stared at Ellaria. The fragile woman held his gaze. Ellaria had a point. She couldn’t control Dorne. Only someone with a blood claim to Prince Doran would be accepted. The Martell bloodlines, as Ned had reminded them, went all the way back to Queen Nymeria herself. The Dornish would not accept the bastard daughter of a minor lord as their new Princess of Dorne.

“Ser Manfrey, I know you’re outraged at your kin’s murders but so am I,” she insisted quietly. “Please, don’t allow your emotions to overrule your logic. How could I have possibly committed these murders? Prince Doran was always surrounded by guards, including Aero Hotah. Are you saying that the guards stood by quietly by as I, a woman with no standing, murdered our prince? Where in all of Dorne would you find such weak and disloyal men?”

Again, Manfrey remained silent, giving weight to Ellaria’s logical question. The other lords were now looking amongst themselves, considering what Ellaria was saying. How could Ellaria have enough influence over Doran’s guards to kill the Prince of Dorne? How would she have escaped Sunspear if she’d truly murdered Doran?

Anders looked from Ellaria to glare at the castellan. “True Dornishmen would never turn against our prince but Lannister dogs dig into the deepest filth. Who’s to say they didn’t send agents to kill Prince Doran?”

Ellaria lowered her head, again projecting delicate weakness. The lords were now studying her thoughtfully, considering her words. Tyrion looked at the lords then glared at the frail woman. He didn’t accuse her directly. Instead he took a deep breath and spoke in a calm, even tone.

“What about Myrcella and Trystane?” Tyrion asked quietly. “They were also murdered.”

Tyrion looked at his brother and sister. Cersei hung limply to Jaime’s arm, exhausted by her own raging anger. Only the former queen’s eyes still had energy, the fire in them burning with fury. Jaime was silent, head bowed, unwilling or unable to speak for himself. Tyrion looked from his siblings to the dragons, still huddled close to Brienne and Griff. The five watched Tyrion calmly. They had no animosity towards the youngest lion.

“How do you claim I murdered them from Dorne?” Ellaria asked, raising her head with effort. “The Kingslayer took them from us. How could I have murdered Prince Trystane?”

“I…I left Trystane on the ship when it reached Blackwater Bay,” Jaime finally spoke. “I knew Trystane wouldn’t be safe in King’s Landing until I delivered Myrcella’s body and explained the circumstances. I know Doran and Trystane had nothing to do with her death.”

“This bitch did!” Again, Cersei lunged for Ellaria but Jaime pulled her back.

“But Prince Trystane was dead when you went back for him?” Ellaria prompted. “How do you propose I killed him when I was in Dorne?”

“The Sand Snakes,” Cersei hissed, struggling with Jaime. “They’re as vicious as you are.”

Anders snorted. “You’re saying Oberyn’s daughters boarded a ship docked in the Blackwater Bay, surrounded by Lannister guards, unseen? Then they walked into Prince Trystane’s cabin, also surrounded by Lannister guards, to kill our prince?  You would have us believe they slipped back into the sea, again without being seen, and swam back to Dorne?”

“Your Grace,” Ellaria’s voice quivered as she called to Griff. “Oberyn’s daughters were brave and fierce but they weren’t fish or bird, nor dragons. They could not fly nor swim from King’s Landing to Sunspear.”

Griff rose from his crouched position, Allwyn still in his arms. Catren and Gallan leaned against him as Allwyn wrapped its tail around his waist. Fresh tears welled up in Ellaria’s eyes as she observed the blue-grey dragon wrap itself around Griff.

“I wish they could have met your dragons,” Ellaria’s voice trembled. “I wish you could have met your uncles. There is so much of them in you. Perhaps Oberyn wouldn’t have held such anger if he could have held you, known his sister’s son lived. Especially if he could have seen you share the same smile.”

Brienne gasped softly. _Oberyn’s smile._ She recalled the sharp pinpricks of memory when she’d first seen Griff’s cool, slow smile. She’d seen Oberyn when he’d come to King’s Landing for Joffrey’s wedding. She recalled the handsome prince who’d died trying to extract vengeance for his murdered sister and her children. Griff did indeed have Oberyn’s smile, another clear indication of his Martell heritage. Several lords relaxed and looked to Griff, further reassured they followed the true Price of Dorne.

Cersei, on the other hand, was not reassured by what she was seeing. She was nearly trembling with her fury, hands clenched into tight fists. Ellaria lowered her head, as if the weight of it was too much for her to hold up. She shivered delicately but Cersei wasn’t moved by the display.

“Your tears mean nothing!” Cersei snarled. “You murdered my daughter. My only daughter.”

Ellaria sighed, looking small and defeated. “Your anger or hatred doesn’t change the truth. I had nothing to do with her death.”

“You kissed Myrcella before she left Dorne,” Tyrion reminded her. “You poisoned her with the Long Farewell.”

The Hand was calmer but no less angry that his sister. Tyrion had loved Myrcella and had done everything in his power to protect her. But Tywin Lannister had made too many enemies in his quest for power. Once he was gone, they had all fallen upon the remaining lions, striking at their weaknesses and tearing their family to shreds.

“I did no such thing,” Ellaria insisted. “Yes, I kissed her. I showed affection for her. I didn’t kill her with my love.”

“You coated your lips with poison, then Myrcella ingested the poison,” Tyrion insisted. “Qyburn identified the poison.”

“Qyburn?” Griff interrupted. “You mean the man who claims to be the greatest Lannister killer in all the world? You trust his word?”

Tyrion jerked visibly. “Why would he lie?”

“Did Myrcella have a private cabin on the boat back to King’s Landing?” Ned asked, speaking for the first time.

Tyrion stared at the Lord of Starfall. “Why does that matter?”

“It matters,” Ned insisted. “Who had access to Myrcella once she was on the boat? Was she in a private room, alone?”

Tyrion looked to Jaime, who hesitated, then nodded.

“How did she die?” Ned asked. “Specifically, how long and what happened?”

Jaime’s eyes darkened with the painful memories. “She and Trystane stayed on deck until we could no longer see Sunspear. Then I asked Myrcella to join me in her cabin. We talked for a few minutes then her nose began to bleed and she died.”

“Did she complain of nausea or trouble with her sight?” Ned persisted

Jaime thought for a moment then shook his head slowly. “No, she didn’t. She was fine until, suddenly, she wasn’t.”

“Why do you ask?” Tyrion’s eyes narrowed, as if sensing a trap.

“I’m familiar with poisons,” Ned explained. “I was taught how to use them and how to recognize them. The Long Farewell is highly lethal. A single drop can kill a babe in minutes. But Myrcella wasn’t a baby. A kiss wouldn’t be enough to kill her that quickly. She would have experienced distress, such as nausea, while the poison worked through her system. She’d have become noticeably sick. It would have taken hours, if not days, to kill with a kiss of the Long Farewell.”

“Yes,” Ellaria agreed instantly, her tears flowing freely. “Cersei chained me up opposite Tyene. She gave my daughter the kiss of death. My Tyene stayed strong. She assured me she was fine. Qyburn came later, I don’t know when, and offered her a fatal dose. He said he couldn’t give her the antidote because Cersei is a deeply cruel woman. She would find a worse way to torture my daughter if he didn’t kill her mercifully. I watched as my daughter died before my eyes.”

The Dornishwoman covered her face with her hands and broke into uncontrolled sobs. This time, several lords shifted closer to her, as if to offer comfort. Cersei’s voice stopped them cold.

“You deserved it,” the former queen hissed. “I’ll find the rest of your daughters and make you truly sorry for what you’ve done.”

“I’ve done nothing but mourn my darling Oberyn and suffered the loss of my beloved daughter,” Ellaria cried, raising her head. “I’ve spent weeks chained up in a dark, dirty cell, watching my child wither before my eyes. Your cruelty and insanity know no bounds.”

“You killed my daughter, my only daughter!” Cersei raged.

“I did not!” Ellaria denied. “You know the truth. Your order your brother to kill her, just as he killed Prince Trystane and brought his men to kill Prince Doran.”

For an instant Cersei froze. There was silence as everyone absorbed Ellaria’s claim. Brienne tightened her arms around Ardayn and Serdun as she looked to Griff. His face was blank with shock for a moment before he smoothed it to an expressionless mask. Jaime’s eyes were wide and he shook his head in frantic denial. Tyrion’s stepped forward, as though his smaller body could somehow shield his older brother.

“That’s ridiculous!” Tyrion insisted. “Jaime loved Myrcella. He brought her back from Dorne to keep her safe.”

“Jaime Lannister was the only one who could have killed them,” Ellaria countered. “He and his man came into Dorne in secret when he could have simply come to the port. His man attacked Trystane but was stopped by Oberyn’s daughters. By his own admission, the Kingslayer was alone with Myrcella when she died, supposedly from a poison that couldn’t kill her as quickly as it did. He claimed Trystane was safe on his ship. Then we received his body with a sword wound through his head. The Kingslayer killed them for Cersei.”

“You lying bitch,” Cersei screamed. “You killed them.”

Cersei tried to go to her but this time several Dornish lords intervene, blocking her path. Jaime quickly grabbed his sister’s arm and dragged her back. Griff frowned as he looked from Ellaria to Cersei. Then he looked up at Manfrey. The castellan blinked rapidly and also stared from Ellaria to Cersei.

“Why?” Manfrey asked Ellaria, this time without hostility. “Why would the Kingslayer murder his own daughter?”

“Because Myrcella was a threat to their plans,” Ellaria explained. “Their goal was always to rule Westeros. They couldn’t do so while Tywin was alive. He would never have allowed them to marry each other and deprive himself of powerful martial connections. But once Tywin died, all that stood between them and the throne were Myrcella and Tommen. He murdered Myrcella and Trystane while she killed Tommen and Margery. Then Cersei took the Iron Throne and gave free reign to her insanity.”

“Lies!” Cersei cried. “All lies.”

Brienne looked around at the Dornish lords. They were again grouped tightly, standing against the Lannisters, with Griff and Ellaria behind them. They had made up their minds, consciously or unconsciously, that Cersei was guilty. Therefore, Ellaria must be innocent of the crimes Cersei accused her of.  Ellaria had apparently also sensed the change in the lords’ stances. She used the chair arms to help her sit tall and straight.

Ellaria looked directly as Cersei, her gaze cold and steady. “She would come to my cell to crow over Tyene’s decaying body. She’d tell me how powerful she was, of the people she’d tortured and killed, how no one could stop her, not even her own father. She loved and feared and hated Tywin. He was the reason she couldn’t be with the Kingslayer. She gloated over how furious Tywin had been when she admitted the Kingslayer was the father of her children. She even said she wanted to fuck her brother in front of Tywin so he could truly see what his children were.”

Jaime released Cersei’s arm as if it were on fire. He stepped away and stared at her, his mouth falling open in horror. Cersei stood tall, her chin raised in defiant confirmation. She looked back at him, head held high and fury in her wildfire green eyes.

“No,” Jaime denied. “That’s not true.”

“What’s not true?” Griff asked. “You weren’t the father of Cersei’s children?”

Jaime looked around the hall, as if he’d forgotten they had an audience. He met Griff’s gaze for just an instant before looking away. Jaime deliberately didn’t look at Brienne. Finally, he took a deep breath but didn’t speak. Color flushed into his face and his eyes fell.

“What not true?” Griff asked again. “Cersei didn’t blow up the Sept of Baelor? She didn’t kill Margery and her family, your family and hundreds of others?”

“That was a terrible accident,” Cersei insisted coldly, head still held high.

“Didn’t your whelp kill himself rather than face his mother’s insanity?” Anders growl.

Cersei flushed red. She opened her mouth to respond but the dragons hissed. She looked at them, her eyes wide, and said nothing.

“Kingslayer, you were the last person to see Trystane alive,” Manfrey added. “Did you or your guards see any of Oberyn’s daughters swimming or flying away after killing Trystane and evading your men?”

Jaime stared at the castellan of Sunspear, not even attempting to speak.

“Myrcella couldn’t have died from a kiss of the Long Farewell,” Ned pointed out. “Either she was given a far larger dose, which would have shown symptoms, or she died by other means.”

“You were the only one with her when she died,” Anders pointed out. “We have only your word for how she died.”

Brienne drew in her breath sharply. The lords were siding with Ellaria and her lies. These men were about to convict Cersei and Jaime and exonerate Ellaria based on misinformation and their hatred of Tywin Lannister. Ellaria and Oberyn’s daughters had murdered Griff’s closest links to his mother and Jaime’s only daughter. How could they not see Ellaria’s guilt?

“Your Grace, that’s not true,” Brienne countered. “Qyburn identified the poison. He’s an ex-maester. He knows about poisons.”

Griff gave her a look that was half sympathy, half pity. “Qyburn, who claimed responsibility for every Lannister death in King’s Landing? Brienne, Qyburn so hated the Lannisters that he would have taken credit for bolt that killed Tywin, if the imp weren’t here to deny it.”

Brienne gasped. Qyburn sole purpose for coming to the capital had been the destruction of House Lannister. He’d proudly claimed to have a hand in every Lannister death, even as far away as the Twins and Dorne. Could one man really have that much cunning and foresight? Had Qyburn lied to inflict as much pain as possible on the remaining lions? He’d even offered Tyene a merciful death to gain Ellaria’s support, to further turn the Dornish against the Lannisters.

“Even so, why would he lie about how Myrcella died?” Brienne questioned. “Why would it matter to him which poison Cersei used to kill Tyene?”

“Because the Long Farewell is the only deadly poison with a known antidote,” Ned explained. “It was the only poison he could give Cersei that wouldn’t kill her, too. I understand Qyburn didn’t want Cersei to die a quick death.”

Ellaria crumpled, sobbing uncontrollably. The Dornish lords looked between Ellaria, weak and sobbing, and Cersei, furious and spitting hatred. Their sympathy was clearly with the delicate and frail Dornishwoman. Brienne looked over their heads to Tyrion. His expression was grim, his mouth pressed into a flat line. The Hand had read the situation as clearly as she had. There would be no justice for Myrcella, Trystane or Doran, not from these men.

“What about what you said to me in Dragonstone?’ Tyrion demanded of Ellaria. “You allied with Queen Daenerys and wanted to attack King’s Landing with fire and blood.”

“I was fighting for Dorne!” Ellaria raised her head proudly. “All of Dorne will stand with me to avenge our prince. Daenerys offered me a way to do so, to defend my home and my people.”

The Dornish lords stood tall and strong, showing the might of the Dornish houses and men. They would also have eagerly accepted the chance to join with the Dragon Queen, if it meant raining fire and blood over those who’d done so much to hurt them. The lords turned to look at Griff, the son of the dragon and the sun; the Targaryen prince who burned with the _fire_ of Dorne. Griff was surrounded by actual living dragons and carried _Dawn_ , the sword of House Dayne, the _blood_ of Dorne. Their new prince would finally give them the vengeance they’d craved since the deaths of their beloved Princess Elia and her daughter, Rhaenys.

“I reminded you Myrcella was innocent.” Tryion’s voice rose with his anxiety. He understood the lords’ mood. “You said she died because she was a Lannister.”

“It’s the truth,” Andres agreed. “She died because Tywin Lannister, Cersei Lannister and Jaime Lannister wanted nothing more than the Iron Throne. Now you see what their ambitions and lies wrought. Your house and your future are as burnt and twisted as the Iron Throne they murdered so many to take.”

The lords were now firmly on Ellaria’s side. Nothing Tyrion said, and certainly nothing Cersei or Jaime did, would change their minds. Ellaria not only would walk free but she’d be hailed a hero in Dorne. She’d opposed the vicious Lannister queen, fought to avenge her prince, survived being imprisoned, borne the murder of her beloved daughter and endured weeks of suffering to emerge victorious. The lords saw Ellaria as a triumphant survivor of the mad queen’s cruelty and injustice.

Brienne leaned forward, still hemmed in by Serdun and Ardayn. “Your Grace –”

“No, Brienne,” Griff cut her off. “I won’t interfere in this matter. These lords have come for parlay. Despite the clear evidence of all the harm the Lannisters have done, they’re here. Ellaria is a citizen of Dorne. They will decide her fate.”

Griff looked directly at her. Brienne knew that look. It was the implacable set jaw and hard eyes that told her she could not persuade him to change his mind. She’d seen it in Essos before, when she’d insisted he needn’t fuss so much for her protection. Then, as now, he’d refused to listen to her and taken elaborate precautions at every port. Finally, she’d given up her protests, knowing she wouldn’t change his mind.

Brienne looked past Griff to the Dornish lords. They were watching their exchange with tense expectation. What more could she say in front of these men? When Griff was sure he was right, he did what he wanted, just as he’d done in Essos. Further protest now was a waste of her time and undermined Griff’s authority in front of his men. She was sworn to him. Such behavior was disloyalty at best, treason at worst.

“My Lords, what is your decision?” Griff asked quietly.

Ellaria, who’d also been staring at Griff, turned her sad, tearful eyes to the lords. They gathered together, talking amongst themselves. Cersei, who’d nearly exhausted herself with her fury, took audible gasping breaths. Jaime had her arm again, moving her further back, as if fearing the lords would kill his sister then and there. Only Tyrion stood his ground, watching the lords with tense expectation.

Balon, who’d been standing quietly to the side during the whole exchange, shifted slightly, drawing Brienne’s attention. Balon had offered his assistance without hesitation and had earned the trust of the smallfolk. Such trust was worthless to people like Cersei but men – and dragons – had been killed by angry mobs of poor, neglected people. Brienne recalled what she’d thought when walking to the maester’s chamber with Balon and the babies.

_A good king allowed those he trusted to offer advice and knew when to temper his own actions. Those who protected the king might have occasions to protect the king from himself._

Griff hadn’t listened to her when she’d suggested she didn’t need so much protection. But later, when they’d been alone in his cabin, he’d explained his logic. He hadn’t been stubborn without cause. Any attempt to harm her, even an innocent jostle on the streets, would cause the dragons to fly to her defense. Once seen, they would be hunted. The streets would run red with blood if slavers knew there were baby dragons in Essos. Protecting her was the best way to protect the dragons. She hadn’t agreed but he’d explained and she’d understood his reasoning.

Griff was reasonable, despite his hatred of the Lannisters. He would do what was best for the people, regardless of his personal feelings. But she couldn’t oppose him in front of others. That undermined his authority and would make it appear she had influence over his decisions. Her best chance to change his mind was to talk to him in private, away from these men and their suspicions. She had to explain how wrong it would be to allow Ellaria to go unpunished for her actions. Griff was the new ruler of Dorne, not these men.

“Ellaria Sand, you will return with us to Dorne tomorrow,” Manfrey announced.

Both Cersei and Ellaria cried out. The lords turned they backs on Cersei’s protests to focus on Ellaria. The Dornishwoman appeared small and helpless as she looked up at the lords.

“My daughters, what about my remaining daughters?” Ellaria gasped.

Manfrey’s expression softened noticeably. “Your daughters are safe and well. We, their father’s family, protect them. You will be reunited with them at the Water Palace.”

“But,” Andres stepped forward, “you’ll remain at the Water Palace until we determine the truth of your claims.  If you’re found guilty, you will be executed immediately and your daughters will become wards of Prince Aegon.”

“I’m not guilty,” Ellaria insisted, tears streaming down her cheeks and onto the dirty, worn dress. “My heart belongs to Oberyn and Dorne.  Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for our people. My loyalty is and will always be to Dorne.”

“No!” Cersei cried, once again restrained by Jaime. “You will not go free. You will not live in comfort. You murdered my daughter! My only daughter. I will see you and your entire bloodline dead before I let you live.”

“Cersei Lannister and her creature, Gregor Clegane, will also come with us,” Manfrey continued, as if he hadn’t heard Cersei’s threats. “Perhaps a few weeks in a dark, dirty cell watching the Mountain’s body decay will teach her humility before her own punishment.”

Cersei froze, her eyes widening. “No!” She turned to Jaime and grabbed his breastplate again. “No! Please Jaime. Help me. Save me. I need you now as I have never needed you before. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Tears spurted from Cersei’s eyes as true fear darkened them to nearly black. Her breath came out in sharp, anxious gasps. Jaime’s eyes also darkened with agony and his face crumpled. He pulled Cersei’s hand off his uniform but she held on with her other hand. He shook his head slowly.

“No, I can’t.” His voice was hoarse, near tears. “I gave you everything, every part of me and you took it. All I have left is one chance to retrieve my honor, to prove I’m a man of my word and to fight for the living. Let me have at least that, Cersei.”

Cersei’s moth fell open as she tried to shake him. He was too big and too strong for him to move. She shook her head frantically.

“No!” Cersei denied. “Is your honor worth more to you than me? They’ll kill me, Jaime! They’ll torture and kill me.”

Tears fell from Jaime’s eyes. “But what is one life against thousands? If there’s a chance I can make a difference, leave this world better than I came into it, I must take it.”

“You’re listening to her babble? You’re putting _her_ before me?” Cersei curled her hands into fists and began beating his face and neck. “You’ll let me die for her?”

Jaime leaned back but did nothing else to defend himself. Brienne tried to rise but Ardayn and Serdun, still pressed against her, held her in place. Griff looked at her with concern, focusing on her reaction instead of the Lannisters. Brienne nodded to him sadly. She knew it wasn’t her place to interfere. What could she do anyway? The decision had already been made. They’d all agreed to turn Cersei and Gregor over to Dorne in trade for a decrease in hostility. Griff becoming the new Prince of Dorne didn’t alter the bargain they’d made or the Dornish lords’ desire for revenge.

The Lannister guards looked anxiously between the Lannister twins and the dragons. They didn’t move from their posts near the doors. The Dornishmen watch with dispassionate disinterest. The dragons wouldn’t allow Brienne to go to Jaime. That left only Tyrion to hurry to his brother’s aid.

“Stop!” Tyrion pleaded.

Cersei whirled from Jaime to Tyrion. She shoved the dwarf hard, sending him stumbling back. Fury sparked off her like streaks of lightning. She advanced on Tyrion and shoved him again, this time causing him to fall into his backside.

“This is all your fault!” Cersei raged. “You killed our mother. You killed our father. You sent Myrcella to Dorne, to that pit of vipers. Why couldn’t you have died instead?”

She reached down for him, her hands curled into claws. Tyrion raised his arm to protect his eyes. Jaime, who’d refused to defend himself, instantly stepped in to defend his brother. He grabbed Cersei’s arm and yanked her away from Tyrion. Jaime’s grip pulled Cersei’s body so harshly she nearly fell as he turned her to face him. Only his bruising grip on her arm kept her upright.

“No, this is your fault!” Jaime railed, equal fury crackling around him. “Your fault and my fault. Your cruelty and greed, my stupidity and arrogance. We did this. We brought about the end of our house. We thought we were so much better, smarter than everyone else. If we’d honored the vows we’d taken, none of this would have happened. I’m done making excuses for you and for myself. I was wrong and I accept it. From this moment on, I’m going to honor my vows. I’ll stand with these lords and their Targaryen prince and fight for the living.”

Jaime shoved Cersei away from him and went to Tyrion. The younger lion had already gotten to his feet. The Hand straightened his jacket and smoothed down his hair, nodding to reassure his brother he was well. Cersei, left alone in the middle of the hall, looked around wildly. Everyone, including lords, guards, dragons, and her brothers looked back at her dispassionately.

Griff nodded to the guards. “Take her to the black cells.”

“No!” Cersei cried, her voice breaking. “No, please! Jaime! Jaime, save me!”

The Lannister guards looked from Griff to the dragons then to Cersei and finally to Jaime. They hesitated, as if unsure if they should follow Griff’s orders, even if he did have dragons. Brienne understood their hesitation. They’d bent the knee to the Dragon Queen not the Prince of Dorne. Jaime had sided with the King in the North but now vowed to work with the Dornish lords. They weren’t sure who to follow.

Jaime looked at Cersei then at Griff. Finally, his shoulders dropped and he faced the Lannister guards. “Take her.”

Now, with both the Lord Commander and the Dragon King giving the same order, the Lannister guards surrounded Cersei, while still throwing worried glances at the dragons. The five watched calmly as the guards grabbed Cersei. Cersei fought and screamed but the dragons weren’t upset by her cries and harsh emotions. The former Queen of Westeros hadn’t made a good impression on them.

“No!” Cersei cried again, twisting frantically against the guards. “You can’t do this. I am the Queen. Do you hear me? I’ll have your heads for this. I am the Queen!”

Cersei continued to rant as she was dragged out of the Throne Room. Silence descended on the hall once she was gone. Jaime hung his head, his shoulders stiff as tears fell to the floor. Tyrion put his hand on Jaime’s arm, supporting his brother through the hardest decision of his life. He’d given up his heart, the woman he’d loved even longer than he’d lived. Jaime had finally released the weight that had held him back his entire life.

But what was left of Jaime Lannister now?


	38. Confession Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did people forget the dragons? They knew the five wouldn’t allow any aggressive actions against those they loved. The dragons protected their family above all things.

### Chapter 38 – Confession Keeper

For a moment, after Cersei was dragged out of the Throne Room, silence descended on the hall. It was as if Cersei had taken the energy and sound with her. Then Ellaria, still weak after weeks locked in the black cells, slumped into the chair, as limp as a broken doll.

“Ser Balon, take Ellaria back to the maester’s chambers,” Griff ordered, breaking the silence.

“Yes, your Grace.” Balon nodded and moved forward to join the group.

Ellaria looked up at her prince, grimaced and rose from her chair, visibly trembling. She took a step, gasped then put out her hand to Griff as her body crumpled beneath her. Balon swooped in instantly and caught her before the Dornishwoman fell to the floor. Griff, who was still holding Allwyn, shifted aside and frowned. He made no attempt to assist Ellaria as Balon gathered her up into his arms.

Brienne also frowned as she watched the scene. Why would Ellaria put out her hand to Griff? Had she deliberately reached out, perhaps expecting Griff to save her from falling? Ellaria’s eyes had narrowed fractionally at the new Prince of Dorne before she’d risen. The look had been calm and calculating. How much of her weakness was real and how much were theatrics to garner support and sympathy from the Dornish lords? Ellaria truly was weak and emaciated, clear signs of the abuse she’d endured at Cersei’s hands. Perhaps it was Brienne’s vantage point, looking at Ellaria from over Griff’s shoulder, that made her so suspicious of the other woman.   

“Ser Balon, have you had relief in your duties watching over the babies?” Griff asked the courtly knight.

Balon straightened with Ellaria in his arms. “Yes, your Grace. Lord Tyrion sent guards to relieve me last night, soon after your visit with the children.”

Beyond Balon, Brienne saw Tryion stiffen and turn his head to them. The Hand held Jaime’s arm comfortingly. Jaime’s head was down and his shoulders rose steadily with his deep breaths. He wasn’t paying attention to the conversation, but Tyrion was. Brienne watched the dwarf’s eyes narrow as he processed the implications. Tyrion hadn’t known Griff had gone to the maester’s chambers the night before. The Hand looked from Griff to Balon, then to Brienne. She fought to keep her expression blank but Tyrion was too smart to be fooled. He knew as well as she did that Griff hadn’t gone to visit the children.

“Excellent.” Griff nodded. “You may return to your duties.”

Balon, tall, broad and strong, bowed even with Ellaria’s slight weight in his arms. The lords were all silent, watching the knight until he left the hall. Anders turned back to face Griff once the doors shut behind Balon.

“Your Grace –” he began.

Griff put up his hand and nodded past Anders. The older man turned to see Tyrion and Jaime still in the room. Jaime’s shoulders squared and his posture straightened, indicating he had made peace with his choices. He looked up, his face red with fresh bruises where Cersei had hit him, but with resolute acceptance firming his features. Jaime swiped his hand over his cheeks then stood tall and calm. He faced Griff with clear eyes and determination in his features.

The new Prince of Dorne wasn’t looking at the Lord Commander. Instead, Griff was focused on Tyrion. The Hand’s expression was calm and steady as he regarded the gathered lords and their prince. Finally, the Hand met the Prince of Dorne’s equally calm and steady gaze. Griff was no fool, either. He knew Tyrion had heard what Balon had so innocently revealed and understood its significance.

“Lord Tyrion, I believe you have ravens to send out,” Griff reminded him. “Inform my aunt and Jon Snow that the new Prince of Dorne has agreed to decrease hostilities. In exchange, Gregor Clegane and Cersei Lannister will be handed over to Dorne for trial and punishment.”

Tyrion nodded. “Queen Daenerys was already agreeable to sending Ser Gregor and my sister to Sunspear. The queen is eager to have Dorne as an ally.”

“We have _not_ agreed to ally, imp,” Manfrey growled.

The aging castellan leaned forward aggressively. Tyrion held himself straight but the dwarf was no match for the Dornish lord. Jaime threw off his brother’s arm as he moved to protect him while Griff shifted to intercept the castellan. Manfrey looked at Griff, Allwyn still in his arms, and stilled. Griff looked back at him calmly until Manfrey straightened. 

“Ser Manfrey, I understand your anger more than most,” Griff said quietly. “Tywin Lannister brought bloodshed and grief to most of Westeros. The harm he’s done can never be undone or forgotten. Dorne will be given some recompense for the loss of my family. But that’s in the past. We cannot regain what we’ve lost, nor can we allow ourselves to throw away the future. We all face the same enemy. Tywin Lannister’s sons are on the same side we are, the side of the living.”

Manfrey’s face flushed red and he glared hard at Tyrion. The Hand raised his chin and met the angry castellan’s gaze. Jaime shifted back so he was behind Tyrion, close enough to protect his brother but allowing Tyrion to lead. The rest of the lords and the dragons watched them quietly. Finally, Manfrey nodded and turned to Griff.

“Yes, your Grace,” Manfrey agreed and moved to rejoin the other lords.

Griff turned back to Tyrion. “Lord Tyrion, I’ll speak with the lords to determine our next step. I’m aware of the threat rising in the North. We’ll discuss the matter and have an update for you shortly.”

The dismissal was clear in Griff’s voice. The Hand to Queen Daenerys wasn’t welcome in those discussions. Tyrion looked from Griff to the lords then back to the new Prince of Dorne. The Hand nodded.

“Very well,” Tyrion agreed.  

Tyrion turned away from Griff and nodded to Jaime. The two turned for the doors. Tyrion bent down for Cersei’s crown, forgotten and forlorn on the floor. The Hand picked up the crown that had been the symbol of his sister’s brutal rule. He turned and held the circlet up for Griff to see.

“What should I do with this?” Tyrion asked quietly.

“Whatever you wish, Lord Hand.” Griff frowned at the circle of gold. “I don’t want it and I can’t think of anyone who would.”

“Give it back to your sister,” Anders suggested savagely. “Perhaps it will give her comfort while we thrash the flesh from her bones.”

Jaime shuddered at Anders vicious threat but said nothing. Tyrion looked sadly down at the crown. He tucked it behind his back, as if not seeing it would erase the evil his sister had done. He nodded politely to the lords and Griff. The lords remained silent until the Lannisters left the hall. Then they turned to Griff.

“I won’t ally with Lannisters,” Manfrey insisted. “They have caused too much harm to Dorne.”

The castellan took an aggressive step closer to Griff. Catren and Gallan, who’d been leaning against Griff’s legs, instantly straightened. Allwyn, wrapped possessively around Griff, turned its head to the castellan and hissed in warning. Manfrey froze, his eyes widening. Beside Brienne, Ardayn and Serdun also returned to their guard duty, moving from beside Brienne to in front of her. Brienne stared at the castellan of Sunspear. How did people forget the dragons? They knew the five wouldn’t allow any aggressive actions against those they loved. The dragons protected their family above all things.

“You would rather ally with the Army of the Dead, Ser Manfrey?” Griff questioned coolly as he knelt to release Allwyn.

The blue-grey dragon cried out theatrically as Griff unwound its tail from around his waist. He whispered something to the dragon that made Allwyn finally turn and face front, taking its usual place, right and behind Catren.

“What can our men do that four armies and two dragons cannot?” Ned asked quietly, watching Griff move closer to Brienne, allowing the dragons to reform their defensive line.

The five formed a straight line in front of Griff. Brienne stood at his left, a few paces behind her king. The dragons were calm, watching the lords with cool reptilian eyes, clearly aware the lords understood how dangerous they truly were.

“The current plan is to take my aunt’s armies north to man the empty Night’s Watch castles,” Griff explained. “That will put them as the first line of defense if the Army of the Dead breach the Wall. The Northern armies will gather near Winterfell, as the second line of defense. Jon Snow should put the Southern armies south of the Neck, near the Twins and Seaguard to secure fallback positions.”

A cold shiver slid down Brienne’s spine. Seaguard. Her mother’s family, the home of the eagles who had sheltered a secret bastard dragon. Seaguard had also raised Qyburn, an eagle so deadly he’d destroyed the Lannister dynasty. Did House Mallister hold more secrets, perhaps even clues to fighting the menace they faced?

“Jon Snow isn’t a good battle commander,” Andres countered. “Does he even know how to set up multiple fallback positions?”

Griff wasn’t listening to Anders. He’d turned to Brienne when she’d shivered visibly. The Prince of Dorne frowned and raised his eyebrows in silent question. Brienne straightened her spine and shook her head. There was no need to interrupt their conversation with her personal concerns. It was far more important to create a sound battle plan to fight the Army of the Dead.

“Brienne,” Griff said smoothly. “Our conversation will take some time. There’s no reason for you to stay with us as we discuss this.”

Brienne stared at her king, fighting to keep the shock and dismay out of her expression. Was he dismissing her? Griff had never asked her to leave a meeting before. Why would he do so now?

“Your Grace, I’m sworn to you,” she protested. “My place is at your side, always.”

“Yes, it is.” Griff’s cool expression warmed as he smiled at her. “And it always will be. But I’m not your only responsibility. The dragons need you even more. What news do we have on _Dragonbinder_?”

Brienne gasped. How could she have forgotten? Her first duty was and would always be to the Gods and the dragons they’d entrusted to her. She’d been so focused on her king, she’d forgotten the threat to the dragons. The horn that could enslave dragons was still out in the world, a terrible threat to the dragons and they safety. They hadn’t heard it sound after the Dornish lords arrived, so it was unlikely they had the horn. If they did have it, they would be fools to use it now and divide their ranks. Griff was already giving them the revenge against the Lannisters they craved. Why would they risk the fury of their new prince by threatening his dragons?

“I’ll check with Podrick, Sandor and Ser Bronn now,” Brienne agreed. “They’ve been out since morning. Perhaps they’ve picked up some whispers.”

Griff nodded. “Good. Even whispers can lead to the truth.”

She nodded in return and strode forward, going beyond the dragons’ protective line. Serdun and Ardayn left their positions to follow her. The lords immediately moved aside, taking care to keep far away from the dragons.

“Brienne, wait!” Griff called.

She stopped and turned back smartly, the skirt of her dress twirling with her. Ardayn and Serdun obediently stopped with her, landing at her side. Griff strode over to them, with Catren, Allwyn and Gallan at his back. Though the lords kept they distance, they watched carefully.

“Take these three with you.” Griff nodded to Catren, Allwyn and Gallan. “They’re always at the forefront. Catren is a born leader, Allwyn a born actor and Gallan a natural explorer. Ardayn and Serdun are disciplined and solemn. I have to remind myself they need my attention, too.”

“I know.” Brienne knelt and hugged her most ardent guards. “Sometimes, when they’re sleeping, I sit between them and just hold them during the night.”

Griff also knelt to pull the Serdun and Ardayn to his side. “I used to do that, too.”

The two went to him, alert and calm, aware of their duty, as was their nature. Catren, Allwyn and Gallan were equally obedient as they shifted to hover beside Brienne. She smiled with pride at their sharp, disciplined performance. Griff also grinned at them as he rose.

Behind him, the lords shifted. They looked at each other, while some even whispered between themselves, calculation and consideration glittering in their eyes. Brienne quickly wiped away her soft smile and firmed her expression as she looked at them. She straightened and brushed out her skirt. What was wrong with her? First, she’d forgotten about the threat of _Dragonbinder_ , now she’d forgotten their every move was observed by Griff’s new subjects. She didn’t even want to consider what they thought of her, the mannish woman who strove to be a knight instead of a lady.

“I’ll report back when I have more information, your Grace.” She deliberately raised her voice and addressed him formally, as a knight should.

Griff, his back to the lords, didn’t feel the need to respond in kind. His grin crinkled the edges of his eyes and he had the nerve to wink at her as he nodded. She kept her expression as blank as she could as she strode out of the hall, Catren, Allwyn and Gallan flying above her head.

Outside the doors, the Lannister guards immediately put their hands behind their backs, staring straight ahead. They held their positions but Brienne could see them sneaking glances at the dragons from the corners of their eyes. The dragons ignored them, their attention on Podrick, who stood at the far end of the hall, deep in conversation with Tyrion. Catren and Allwyn stayed with Brienne while Gallan flew down the hall to her squire.

Podrick braced himself as the blue dragon draped itself across his shoulders. He grunted but held Gallan’s weight with practiced ease. The guards along the hall shuddered, even while pretending not to watch the dragons. Brienne hurried to join them, with Catren and Allwyn guarding her from above.

Tyrion looked from Gallan to Podrick then back to the dragon. “Sometimes I envy your easy relationship with the dragons, Pod, but this is not one of those times.”

“They’re making me stronger, Lord Hand,” Podrick insisted. “I can run faster and carry more weight now than I could before.”

Tyrion continued to eye the dragon. “That maybe fine for now but, one day, they’ll be the size of Drogon. Will you still want them draped across your shoulders then?”

Podrick’s eyes bulged out of his head.  “Drogon?” He turned to greet Brienne. “My Lady Ser, I can’t hold that much weight!”

“Not to worry Podrick,” Brienne reassured him. “King Aegon and I will continue their training. I’m sure they’ll grow out of landing on your shoulders once they’re a little bigger.” She looked at the blue dragon. “Gallan, sōvegon.”

Gallan squawked but obediently rose from Podrick’s shoulders. It landed on the floor between Podrick and Brienne, prompting the other dragons to land, too. Catren came down on Brienne’s other side, between her and Tyrion while Allwyn settled next to Gallan, leaning against Podrick. The squire rubbed Allwyn’s neck while Tyrion smiled at Catren.

_“Lord Hand, I notice you have no fear of the dragons.” Ned looked from Tyrion to Serdun, close enough for the Hand to touch, then back again. “Nor do the dragons have anger towards you. How is it that you, a Lannister, can walk among them?”_

Brienne recalled Ned’s question to Tyrion in the Throne Room. The dragons didn’t have anger towards Tyrion because they judged him as the man he was today, not by the sins of his father or the mistakes of his family. Jon Snow also had the rare gift of judging men as they were now without the bias of their past actions. It was that ability that had allowed him to build collations of warring factions, to bring Wildlings into the North and gave men the confidence that his word was his bond.

Griff needed to learn that skill, too. Like Jon, Griff had the delicate task of bringing warring men together. The Dornish had many reasons to hate the Lannisters and the southland families who had supported them. But now they faced an enemy that threatened them all equally. And not just the threat of the Army of the Dead, they also faced threats from the living. Even now, men were fighting for greater power. Someone had _Dragonbinder_ and posed a threat to the dragons that could destroy the world as effectively as the Night King.

“Podrick, have you heard anything about the horn?” Brienne asked.

Podrick shook his head regretfully. “No, my Lady Ser. The people in the markets know who I am now. They’re afraid to talk to me.”

Brienne grimaced. It had been her frantic rush to find Podrick that had alerted the people to his status as her squire. They knew the dragons would defend Podrick as they did Brienne or their new king. Too many years living under brutal rulers had left the people afraid. They didn’t want to bring attention to themselves.

“There’s something I’d like to speak to you about, Lady Ser Brienne,” Tyrion said quietly.

It was his serious tone that alerted Brienne to the grim nature of his subject. Tyrion’s eyes were dark and his mouth pulled down at the corners. There was no love lost between the Hand and his sister but Tyrion had loved his niece and nephew and still loved Jaime. No matter how cruel and harsh Tywin had been, his grandchildren had been innocent of their family’s crimes.

Brienne stiffened. “Is this about Ellaria Sand, Lord Tyrion?”

Tyrion nodded, his expression grave.

“I know you’re disappointed by the judgment to grant a reprieve to her. I have no influence over the lords’ decision.” Brienne gave Tyrion a steady look. “I won’t go against my king, Lord Hand. You cannot ask that of me.”

“I’m not asking that,” Tyrion insisted. “I just want to ask you to consider one question.”

Brienne looked from Tyrion to Podrick. Both had matching intense, serious expressions. Judging by her squire’s troubled frown, Tyrion had already posed his question to Podrick. The squire bent down, making a show of stroking the dragons while Brienne faced Tyrion again.

“What is your question, Lord Hand?” Brienne prompted.

Tyrion hesitated. He appeared to be reluctant to speak but finally sighed.  “Who gained the most by Doran and Trystane’s deaths?”

For a moment, Brienne didn’t understand. She stared at Tyrion’s serious, solemn expression. What was he implying?

Tyrion’s eyes narrowed and he continued. “Who is now the Prince of Dorne, only because of the deaths of the previous prince and his heir?”

And then she understood. Tyrion was insinuating that Griff had plotted the murders of his uncle and his cousin. Heat flushed through Brienne’s body, so sudden and intense, her cheeks felt like they were on fire. She curled her hands into fists to control her reaction. The dragons, picking up on her rage, hissed and sniffed the air, trying to find the source of her spiked emotions. Podrick’s eyes widened and he leaned away, as if the increased space would insulate him from Brienne’s anger.

“Ask yourself a different question, Lord Hand,” Brienne responded swiftly, fighting to keep her voice even. “Who hated your father enough to kill everyone in their path for revenge against him and your family?”

Tyrion paled. They both knew the list of people who wanted to kill Tywin was long, with Tyrion himself at the top. But Tyrion would never have harmed Tommen or Myrcella, Jaime’s children. They, like Griff’s mother and sister, had been innocent victims of the savage cruelty of others.

Not waiting for his reply, Brienne turned on her heel and marched down the hall. The dragons and Podrick rushed after her. After a few minutes of rapid marching, Podrick, who gasped from the effort of keeping pace with her, finally spoke.

“My Lady Ser, where are we going?” he asked.

Brienne came to such an abrupt stop that Podrick ran into her back. The dragons circled over their heads, equally confused by her actions. She turned to face her squire.

“I’m sorry,” Podrick apologized. “I didn’t know you were stopping.”

Brienne released her breath on a heavy sigh. “I didn’t mean to stop so suddenly and I don’t know where I’m going. I just needed to get away from Lord Tyrion. I need to get away from here.” She looked around, noting the guards and busy servants who carefully ignored them. “I wish there was somewhere we could go where we can talk privately.”

Griff was right. There were always people listening. Servants who darted into side halls and open doors when they passed, guards stationed along hallways, tradespeople busily completing their tasks, nobles and sycophants eager to curry favor with those in power and spies whose sole purpose was to observe and gather information.

“There is, my Lady Ser. The godswood,” Podrick suggested. “It’s quiet and private. The dragons would keep everyone away and alert us if anyone approached.”

Brienne stared blankly at her squire for a moment. He was right. The Red Keep’s walls had ears with servants, guards, and little birds trying to listen to every word. But the godswood was a place of quiet reflection, without walls to hide behind, where the dragons could easily guard their privacy. Podrick watched her expectantly, his expression falling when she remained silent.

“Perhaps that wasn’t a good idea,” Podrick said quietly.

A second later he gasped as Brienne swept him into her arms, hugging him tightly. She released him as suddenly as she’d held him. Euphoria rushed through her veins at the chance to escape the observing eyes and straining ears, if only for a short time.

“No, it’s a great idea,” she agreed. “I was just annoyed with myself for not thinking of it. Come Podrick, let’s go to the godswood.”

She turned away, missing Podrick’s surprised and pleased expression. He and the dragons rushed after her. The hallways quickly emptied before them as they, with the dragons overhead, hurried out of the castle and into the gardens. A moment later, they entered the wooded sanctuary. As Podrick predicted, the few people in the grove hurriedly left when they saw them coming. The dragons, intoxicated by the fresh air and the smell of seawater and fish, cried happily, swooping through the sky. Even so, Brienne noted one of them was with them at all times, keeping watch to protect their family.

Podrick settled on a bench and looked up at her expectantly. “Is this about what Lord Tyrion said, my Lady Ser?”

Brienne nodded. She proceeded to tell him of her eventful afternoon, from visiting with Ela and the babies in the maesters chambers to meeting with the lords in the Throne Room, Cersei’s sentence to be sent to Dorne and Ellaria’s theatrics. The words tumbled out of her mouth as she marched back and forth in front of her squire. Podrick listened quietly, without interruption, until she finished her story.

“King Aegon is moving quickly, isn’t he?” Podrick remarked. “He’s already consolidating his power in Dorne after the death of the ruling prince.”

“Podrick, you don’t believe the king had anything to do with Doran or Trystane’s deaths, do you?” Brienne asked, continuing to pace in front of her squire.

“No, I don’t,” Podrick responded instantly. “Lord Tyrion is upset because King Aegon’s right to rule is greater than Queen Daenerys’s. I know the king had nothing to do with the murders of his kin.”

Brienne halted and stared at him. “You do? How are you so sure?”

Relief rushed through her at her squire’s loyal assurance. She knew Griff wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. She knew because she’d lived with Griff, seen his actions and had been protected by him for months while hiding the baby dragons at sea. Podrick had only been with Griff for a few days before returning to Tarth. What allowed her squire to have such faith in her king?

Podrick shrugged. “The king was in Essos with you and the dragons when Doran and Trystane were murdered. You said he’d already made arrangements to take the dragons to Valyria while you returned to Tarth. Why would he do so if he’d put plans into place to take over Dorne? He wouldn’t risk leaving the region without a ruling prince for all that time.”

Brienne nodded. “Yes, he started building a _Golden Company_ base for us in Valyria to keep the dragons safe. After the pirate fight and with their rapid growth, it was too risky to keep them on a wooden ship. His plan was to visit Meereen, not Westeros. I talked him out of a meeting with Daenerys. I knew she would see him as a rival, not an ally. The king’s first priority has always been to protect me and the dragons. He would never have endangered them by bringing them to Westeros while they were so young, not even for the opportunity to take over Dorne.”

Podrick nodded. “Plus, King Aegon needed to be chosen by _Dawn_ before the lords accepted him as Aegon Martell Targaryen. What would he gain by a conspiracy to kill the princes if there was a chance King Aegon couldn’t prove his blood ties to Dorne?”

Brienne gasped as she stared at her squire. _Dawn_. A shock passed through her body, as it had the first time she’d touched _Lightning_. That was the key to this puzzle, the lynchpin that held all the pieces together. Everything centered around the magical sword. It wasn’t the Dornish lords, the land or even the Prince of Dorne that mattered. It was the _sword_.

“You’re right, Podrick.” Brienne’s breath quickened as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place for her. “The conspiracy to murder Myrcella, Doran and Trystane was set up while we were still in Essos. Lord Tyrion asked the wrong question. He asked who gained the most by Doran and Trystane’s deaths. He should have asked who _stood_ to gain the most by their deaths.”

Podrick frowned as he considered. Finally, he shook his head. “But doesn’t that mean the same thing, my Lady Ser?”

“No, it doesn’t.” Brienne returned to pacing as the thoughts connected in her mind. “The person who gained the most is King Aegon. He’s now the Prince of Dorne and holds the loyalty of the most powerful, intact region in Westeros. But who stood to gain the most if the king hadn’t come to Westeros? Who would have become the next Prince of Dorne even without _Dawn_ to prove his blood claim?”

“Manfrey Martell,” Griff answered from over her shoulder.

Brienne gasped and whirled around, startled to hear his voice. The King of Westeros and new Prince of Dorne stood only a few meters away, studying her calmly. Ardayn and Serdun were at his side, looking around with interest but firm in their duty. Griff looked down at the devoted guards.

“Ardayn, Serdun, sōvegon,” he urged.

The two looked at Griff then up at the other dragons. Catren and Allwyn squawked and came back to them. Ardayn and Serdun waited for them to land before taking to the sky in a well-deserved break. Brienne’s gaze followed the dragons as they soared upwards then went to the people watching them from the castle. The people weren’t a threat. She, Podrick and Griff were out in the open, easily seen but protected by the dragons. No one would get close enough to hear them. She turned back to her king and his new revelation.

“How did you know?” she demanded. “How did you know Manfrey Martell masterminded the conspiracy to murder the ruling prince and his heir to take over Dorne?”

Griff went past her to join Podrick on the bench. Immediately, Catren flew into his lap. Allwyn squawked indignantly but settled comfortably into Podrick’s waiting arms nevertheless. Both dragons preened and burrowed into the warmth of their holders. Brienne refused to be distracted by their antics and focused on Griff.

“When did you figure out Manfrey was behind this?” she pressed.

Griff also looked around, noting the people watching from the distance. He knew, as she did, that no one would dare approach them. The dragons would sense them before they came into hearing distance. No one would risk death by dragonfire or open disloyalty to the dragons. Griff finally looked back at her.

“I put it all together a few weeks back, when I first arrived in Dorne,” Griff admitted. “Manfrey was about to claim the throne when I appeared. I found out he and Daeron Vaith are the lords behind the march. Manfrey wanted to storm Highgarden and lay siege to King’s Landing for revenge against Tywin Lannister’s family and allies. He, like Ellaria, was furious Doran refused to avenge Oberyn and my mother and sister’s deaths. Doran had seen what war did to men and their families. He wanted no part of it, not even for revenge.”

“How do you know Manfrey and Daeron lead the march, your Grace?” Podrick asked.

“We’d learned months ago that Dorne was importing sellswords to augment their armies. The call had gone out into the free cities,” Griff explained. “I sent _Golden Company_ spies join their ranks. It didn’t take long to determine which lords wanted war and which ones didn’t. The only part I didn’t understand, at that time, was Ellaria’s role. Why was she treating with Daenerys if she didn’t have the authority to speak for Dorne?”

“She didn’t?” Podrick looked from Griff to Brienne then back to Griff. “Then why did Daenerys accept her if Ellaria wasn’t in a position to provide assistance to her?”

“She was in a position to provide assistance, Podrick,” Brienne corrected him. “Euron Greyjoy knew which ship to attack to find Ellaria and the Sand Snakes when the _Iron Fleet_ attacked the Targaryen armada. That means some of the ships had Dornish markings.”

“Which meant someone with the authority to provide Dornish ships and aid was working with Ellaria,” Griff added. 

“Ellaria was Manfrey’s shield,” Brienne explained. “She was close enough to power to be given assistance as needed but also distant enough for Manfrey to deny if she were caught.”

“Which is what happened.” Podrick nodded, trying to follow their explanation. “Euron killed two Sand Snakes and gave Ellaria and Tyene to Cersei. Manfrey denied knowing Ellaria’s plans. He was even one of her primary accusers to throw off suspicion from himself.”

“Correct,” Griff agreed. “But he revealed himself when Qyburn sent ravens that carried Ellaria’s secret mark. Scrolls were sent to every major house in Dorne and only one man knew the mark. My spies intercepted the messages going back to King’s Landing. Manfrey was so eager to have an agent in Cersei’s court that he replied immediately. That’s when I knew he and Ellaria had conspired to remove Doran and Trystane.”

“Did you confront him?” Podrick demanded.

“Not directly,” Griff admitted. “I need Manfrey to hold the loyalty of House Nymeros Martell, at least for now. Instead of confronting him directly, I offered him what he truly wanted. Manfrey didn’t want war, he wanted revenge. Just by looking at me, he knew I was Rhaegar’s son. I’m the bridge between Dorne and Dragonstone, the Dornish King of the Seven Kingdoms. I could give him the revenge he wanted without the bloodshed he didn’t. I agreed to turn over Cersei and free Ellaria if he agreed to bring Ned Dayne and _Dawn_ to King’s Landing.”

Brienne stopped pacing. “Why did you agree to free Ellaria? She murdered Jaime’s daughter.”

Griff stood up and put Catren down on the bench. The brown dragon yelped in protest but slid closer to Podrick. Obediently, Podrick put his arm around Catren and hugged it close to his side. Even so, his attention was clearly on Brienne and Griff, looking between them with wide eyes.

“Brienne, we don’t always get to choose our allies from only honorable men.” Griff rubbed his hands along her arms in a comforting gesture. “For every Jon Snow or Ned Dayne, there are a hundred Daeron Vaiths and Manfrey Martells. Men who make poor decisions and compromises to reach their goals. Just as Jon Snow accepted the Wildlings who killed his Night’s Watch brothers, I accepted the Dornish lords.”

“The Wildlings were fighting for their lives. Manfrey Martell stood by as Ellaria and the Sand Snakes _murdered_ Doran and Trystane, your kin.” Brienne gasped. “Not only did he stand by, he knew what Ellaria and Oberyn’s daughters were plotting and _allowed_ it. Yet you accept this man, who knew all, and did nothing to protect your uncle and cousin, your blood. How can you do this?”

Brienne shrugged off his hands and stepped back. Griff reached for her again but she stayed out of his reach. His face tightened with hurt but he dropped his hands to his sides. Podrick, Catren and Allwyn were silent and still as their gazes darted from one to the other, watching without interrupting.

“Because I gain more from having him as my ally than as an enemy,” Griff responded quietly. “I didn’t know Doran and Trystane nor could I have done anything to stop their deaths. Manfrey is a powerful and important figure in Dorne. While I don’t like what he did, and he didn’t intend it, his actions helped me. It’s because of what he allowed to happen that I’m now the Prince of Dorne.”

The blood drained from Brienne’s head so quickly she felt light-headed. This time, when Griff reached out for her, she let him take her arms. She needed him to steady her. Serdun, Ardayn and Gallan squawked overhead, aware of her distress, and dove to her side. Podrick, hemmed in by Allwyn and Catren, watched her with wide eyes. Brienne took a deep breath and looked her king directly in the eyes.

“Ser Manfrey allowed the murders of your kin and you accept him because his inaction benefited you,” she repeated quietly. “Yet you condemn the Lannisters for similar and even lesser crimes.”

“What?” Griff blinked and released her, his eyes widening in shock.

Ardayn, Serdun and Gallan landed beside Podrick, joining Catren and Allwyn on the bench. All six watched Brienne and Griff’s exchange with silent, worried eyes. The dragons shifted closer to Podrick and to each other, unaccustomed to the intense, upsetting emotions between Griff and Brienne.

“Do you understand why Westeros needs you so much?” Brienne demanded.

Griff jerked back. “What does that have to do with Lannisters?”

“Answer my question,” Brienne pressed insistently.

Griff stared at her for a moment, color flushing into his face. Brienne knew no one should talk to a king as she was talking to Griff. But she wasn’t just his subject. She was sworn to him. _A good king allowed those he trusted to offer advice and knew when to temper his own actions. Those who protected the king might have occasions to protect the king from himself._

Griff’s indigo eyes flashed but he took a deep breath to calm himself. “It’s because I’m the first true Dornish king. I’ll break the impasse between Dorne and the rest of the regions. I can truly bring the armies of men together.”

Brienne shook her head. He didn’t understand. Griff still thought he was here to serve the people. Normally, that was a good king’s duty but these weren’t normal times. He, like she, was here to serve the _Gods_. They wouldn’t have been gifted with their most powerful weapons, the dragons and _Dawn_ , if they weren’t being guided by the Gods themselves.

“Griff, how many rulers has Westeros seen since Aerys’s death?” Brienne deliberately used his private nickname, the one for the man she knew and not the formal name of the King of the Seven Kingdoms.

Griff blinked. His eyes softened at the name change. He looked at Podrick and the dragons. Her squire’s brow wrinkled in confusion as he looked from Griff back to her. The dragons all pressed closer to Podrick as they also looked between Brienne and Griff.  Brienne continued to regard her king, waiting for his reply.

“Robert, Joffrey, Tommen, Cersei and Daenerys,” Griff answered. “Soon it will be me. Why?”

Brienne shook her head slowly. “No, it’s more than that.”

“She’s right, your Grace,” Podrick injected quietly. “The Iron Islands had two kings and now a queen while the North had two kings of their own, not to mention Stannis and Renly Baratheon.”

A familiar ache, dulled by the passage of time, twisted in Brienne’s heart at the mention of her former king. Dark magic had taken him, a magic she’d been powerless to fight. Back then, she’d been too innocent to understand how truly dark some people’s hearts were. She’d faced insults and slurs but not the kind of cruelty that tore lives and families apart. Now she had a family of her own to protect and even more terrors to face. But she knew the Gods would guide her, just as they were guiding her now.

“Kings and queens are easily replaced,” Brienne pointed out. “As are princes. Even as we speak, Westeros has two kings, two queens and a dozen people ready to take their place. Manfrey would probably kill you himself, if you didn’t have dragons, to become the next Prince of Dorne.”

Griff shifted closer to her, his stance hard and aggressive. “What are you saying, Brienne?”

The dragons growled but didn’t attempt to come to them. They looked from Brienne to Griff and back, unable to understand the harsh emotions between the two people who normally protected them in times of emotional distress. Podrick stretched out his arms, trying to pull the dragons even closer to himself.

“You said you trusted me and believe the Gods are guiding us.” Brienne fought to keep her voice calm.

Griff nodded. “I do.”

Brienne nodded in return. “Then you know everything you endured was necessary to bring you to this moment and what makes you so special, so important, to Westeros. It isn’t that you’re the king or the prince. Westeros has had a hundred kings and will have a hundred more. That’s not why you’re here.”

“No?” Griff frowned and stepped close enough that his breath feathered her cheeks. “Then why am I here?”

“We’re facing a threat greater than any we’ve ever known. One so great that even the Gods have joined with us to fight it. Westeros doesn’t need another ruler. It needs a champion.” She paused and glanced down at _Dawn_ on Griff’s belt. Then she met his gaze squarely with her own. “I can easily name half a dozen rulers, all within my lifetime. But how many _Swords of the Morning_ can you recall?”

Griff’s eyes widened as he began to understand. His gaze shifted from Brienne to Ardayn, the dragon named after Ser Arthur Dayne, the most famous _Sword of the Morning_ in history. It had been named to honor the famed knight but now Brienne realized the dragon was, as were all things the Gods gave her, an important clue to the battle against the Army of the Dead.

Griff’s eyes were dark indigo when he looked back at her. “Only one,” he admitted. “Ser Arthur Dayne.”

“Even Lord Ned can only name three,” Brienne continued. “Not three warriors in his lifetime or three in the last hundred years, but three in all of the history of House Dayne. His family has gone generations without a _Sword of the Morning._  Now they’ve had two in a single lifetime. Why is that?”

Griff drew in his breath. “Because we need _Dawn_ to fight the Army of the Dead.”

“Yes,” Brienne agreed. “Westeros needs the greatest sword in the world, wielded by the fastest swordsman in the world. You are the _Sword of the Morning_ , the sword that will protect the realms of men. You wouldn’t have become who you were destined to be without men like Ser Manfrey, Ser Jaime and Lord Tywin Lannister.”

Griff jerked back. “Tywin Lannister has done _nothing_ for me.”

“Yes, he has,” Brienne corrected harshly. “His methods were brutal but they were effective. If he hadn’t sent Gregor Clegane to murder your family, you wouldn’t have been smuggled out of King’s Landing. You would have been raised in the capital or Dragonstone or Sunspear, known as the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. You wouldn’t need to prove who you were. Would you even have thought to try to claim _Dawn_ if you didn’t need to prove you were the son of the sun?”

“No.” Griff stared at her, his face draining of color. “I would have interpreted the prophecy as others did. I’d have assumed it meant ‘dawn’ as daybreak.”

Brienne nodded. “Thus, the world wouldn’t have the weapon or the warrior it needs to defend it against the Army of the Dead. Tywin orders were brutal and cruel but they were necessary. The Gods did what had to be done to create a weapon powerful enough to fight for the living. As Ser Jaime said, what is one life, even two lives, against thousands? He decided, if there was a chance he could make a difference, leave this world better than he came into it, he would take it. You must do the same.”

“Ser Jaime,” Griff snarled, his face flushed with renewed rage. “You care far too much for that dishonorable, fallen excuse for a knight.”

“Ser Jaime made his mistakes to protect his family, for a reason he thought valid,” Brienne insisted. “You judge him unfairly.”

“Unfairly?” Griff repeated. “He was a knight, a Kingsguard. Rhaegar’s last order to him was to protect my mother and sister. Ser Jaime failed miserably.”

“You hate Ser Jaime for allowing your mother and sister’s deaths, even though he didn’t know Gregor would hurt them. Yet you accept Ser Manfrey after he allowed your uncle and cousin’s deaths, even though he _knowingly_ allowed Ellaria and the Sand Snakes to kill them.” Brienne pointed out. “Why? You benefited equally from both men’s inactions.”

Griff shook his head. “That’s not true. I didn’t benefit from my mother and sister’s deaths. I lost because I lost them.”

“But what would have happened if Ser Jaime had tried to defend them from Gregor?” Brienne demanded. “What if Ser Jaime had died fighting the Mountain? Then I would never have met him, never had gone to Essos, never found the dragons and would never have met you. Would that have benefited you?”

“Not meeting you?” Griff’s eyes widened. “Of course not. That would be a life-altering loss for me.”

“What if Ser Jaime had successfully protected your mother and sister?” Brienne persisted. “What would have happened to them?”

“If Rhaegar was still defeated at the Trident, then they would have gone to Dorne for sanctuary,” Griff guessed. “My uncles would have protected us without question.”

“Yes, they would,” Brienne agreed, “but what would that do to your claim?”

Griff frowned. “Robert would still become King of Westeros.”

“While you would have become like your Uncle Oberyn,” Brienne guessed.

“Oberyn?” Griff repeated. “Why?”

“Oberyn was a fierce fighter, intelligent, handsome and hot-tempered, just like you,” Brienne pointed out. “He was also so far from the line of succession that he didn’t need to worry about ruling the region or having legitimate heirs. You, like him, would have been raised a prince but a prince without power or expectations of ruling.”

Griff’s frown deepened.

“If your mother and sister had lived, they would also have stood between you and the throne of Dorne,” Brienne continued. “Dorne allows women to inherit and the Dornish have had powerful Princesses of Dorne in their history. Doran’s heir was Trystane but, if she had lived, your mother would have become the next ruler of Dorne upon their deaths.”

Podrick gasped softly, understanding what Brienne was saying. She didn’t look at her squire, too focused on watching Griff’s reaction. Her words were getting through to her king, judging by his rapidly paling face.

“If Elia became the ruling Princess of Dorne then your older sister, Rhaenys Martell Targaryen, would have become her heir, not you,” Brienne went on. “The only reason you are the Prince of Dorne, that you even thought to claim _Dawn_ , is because of the deaths of your uncle, your cousin, your mother and your sister. I ask you again, how can you accept Ser Manfrey’s actions but not Ser Jaime’s?”

For a moment Griff was silent. He looked at Podrick and the dragons, sitting quiet and still, trying not to draw attention to themselves. Then Griff took a deep breath and met Brienne’s gaze.

“You know my hatred of the Kingslayer isn’t just because of what happened to my mother and sister,” Griff admitted. “I can’t even look at him without wanting to put a dagger in his gut.”

“But why?” Brienne cried. “He didn’t know what Ser Gregor would do and regrets his inaction every day of his life. Ser Manfrey has only been rewarded for his treason. Why do you hate Ser Jaime and not Ser Manfrey?”

Griff pressed his lips together and turned away from her. He looked over at the dragons and Podrick watching them with silent, wide eyes. Finally, he turned back to Brienne, his jaw tight as he stared at her. She remained quiet, waiting for him to speak. If he had a legitimate reason to hate Jaime, she wanted to know it. Griff regarded her for another minute, his shoulders rising and falling with his deep breaths.

“Because you don’t talk about Manfrey the way you talk about the Kingslayer,” Griff snarled. “You don’t look at Manfrey with those soft, sad eyes and you don’t instinctively reach for him every time his feelings are hurt. You only do those things for the Kingslayer.”

“Ser Jaime saved my life,” Brienne reminded him. “I wouldn’t be here to serve you, to serve the Gods or keep the dragons, if Ser Jaime hadn’t jumped into that bear pit. He risked his own life, while still weak and sick from his infected, severed wrist, to keep me alive. How can I not care about a man who put my life before his own?”

“I’ve done the same and more,” Griff burst out harshly. “I jumped onto a burning ship to fight for you, I took you to Tyrosh and out to sea without question, I protected you and the dragons, I even opened a new base halfway around the world to keep you safe!”

“This isn’t a contest,” Brienne protested. “You’re not in competition with Ser Jaime.”

“I feel like I am,” Griff admitted harshly. “No matter what you learn about him, what atrocities he’s done, you refuse to see the weaknesses in him.”

“Refuse?” she repeated. “When have I refused? I know who Ser Jaime is and I know what his weaknesses are. I know he lays with his own sister. I know he plotted with her to put their bastard son on the Iron Throne. I know he broke his Kingsguard oaths and I know he turned a blind eye to all the horrors inflicted by his family. I see his weaknesses clearly but I can never judge him. I’m still alive because of him.”

“What about me?” Griff demanded. “He gets adoring looks and worried concern while I get criticism. You don’t hesitate a second to point out my weaknesses.”

“You’re my king!” she cried. “It’s my duty to make you as strong and as just as I can, to advise you when I see you failing the people. I want you to be the prince you promised me you’d be. Do you remember what happened that night after the pirate attack? I gave myself to you. I swore myself into your service. Yes, you saved me and the dragons so I gave you my life in return. Isn’t that of equal value? What more must I do to prove my loyalty is to you?”

For a moment there was only silence as Brienne and Griff stared at each other, both shocked by their own and each other’s words. The dragons shifted closer to Podrick as he stretched out his arms, trying to comfort them all. The five weren’t used to witnessing such a harsh exchange between their parents. Allwyn, the most sensitive of the five, cried softly as it dug deeper into Podrick’s lap.

It was that soft cry that finally broke through the red mist of fury blinding Brienne’s sight. Were they really fighting over who cared more about the other? Griff’s hatred of Jaime wasn’t really hatred but jealousy? Aegon the Sixth, the powerful, beautiful King of the Seven Kingdoms and Prince of Dorne, was jealous of her feelings for a broken, dishonored knight?

Brienne’s anger drained as quickly as it had risen. She reached for Griff. It was a gesture he often used on her, touching her face to gain and hold her attention. She took it a step further, cupping his face in her both hands.

“I vowed to shield your back, keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be,” she reminded him in a gentler voice. “You are my king. Where you lead, I will follow. Nothing and no one will change that.”

Griff’s fury drained as quickly as hers had. He leaned forward until their foreheads touched.

“Until death,” he said quietly.

She was quiet for a moment but she knew he needed to hear the words.

“Until death,” she agreed. “I will follow you from this day until my last day.”

She had made her knight’s vow to three great leaders. King Renly and Lady Catelyn were gone but Aegon the Sixth Targaryen, King of the Seven Kingdoms and Prince of Dorne was alive. She was stronger, smarter and better equipped now to protect her liege. And protect him she would. He was more than the prince who was promised, more than a king, even more than a man. He was the _Sword of the Morning_ , the sword of the Gods. It was her duty to guide him.

As the Red Priestess had foretold, she was the light in the darkness.


	39. Territory Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne looked around but didn’t see the setting sun, the lush godswood, the imposing Red Keep, the people or even the dragons. She saw the handiwork of the Gods. Stunned silent, she marveled at their command of men and their destinies.

### Chapter 39 – Territory Keeper

Brienne and Griff were both quiet for a moment longer, foreheads pressed together, the tension settling into a more tranquil stillness. Ardayn ruffled its wings and leaned closer to them, as if to assure itself the harsh exchange had truly ended. Brienne turned from Griff to smile at Podrick and the five. The silver-grey dragon squawked softly and launched itself at her. Brienne released Griff to accept the usually stoic dragon into her arms.

“I’m sorry,” Griff said quietly, reaching out to stroke Ardayn’s neck. “It’s easy to say I’ll be a just king, but sometimes hard to follow in practice. I’ll improve, with you at my side to ground me. I know all of Westeros needs saving, not just Dorne.”

The rest of the dragons became restless and began to cry for attention. Griff dropped down onto the bench again, accepting Gallan into his lap even as he reached for Serdun. Brienne knelt beside Podrick, with Ardayn in her lap. Catren and Allwyn strained forward even as they stayed close to Podrick. Brienne released Ardayn to hug them for a long moment, absorbing their heat in return.

“I’m sorry, too.” Brienne shifted back to settle Ardayn on Podrick’s other side. She turned to look up at Griff. “I know a knight should never speak to her king as I spoke to you.”

“I’m not just your king.” Griff also shifted away from Gallan and Serdun to rise to his feet. “We are so much more. I _need_ you to be honest and direct with me. Those closest to me must always be truthful, always hold me to the highest standards.”

He held out his hand to her. Brienne reached for him but instead of grasping her arm as warriors did, Griff took her hand. He used his stronger build and slight height advantage to pull her to a standing position.

“A good king allows those he trusts to offer advice and knows when to temper his own actions,” Brienne said quietly. “Those who protect the king may have occasions to protect the king from himself.”

“Exactly.” Griff looked directly into her eyes, his indigo gaze clear and warm.

She smiled at the warmth in his eyes. He wasn’t offended or angered by her words. He truly agreed with her. Her king would accept advice and even criticism from those he trusted because he trusted them. Even Daenerys, despite her hunger for conquest, had understood how important it was for a ruler to have true, honest advisors to receive true, honest advice.

_“You’re true to your loyalties and honest about what you see as my shortcomings. That’s what I want, what I need, in those around me. A ruler can lose touch with her subjects, even without sitting on a horrible throne, fifteen feet above them.”_

Brienne’s heart fluttered at remembering Daenerys’s words from the first evening in her rooms in the Red Keep. The Dragon Queen had been pleased by Brienne’s insistence that she would always follow her true king. Daenerys had thought Brienne’s king was Jon Snow, the man for whom the queen had begun to develop warm feelings. She thought a union with Jon would give her both the North and Brienne’s loyalty.

Did Daenerys now know Brienne’s loyalty was to her nephew, Rhaegar’s son, the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms? Griff had instructed Tyrion to send a raven to Daenerys informing her of the new Prince of Dorne. Had she gotten that scroll? She, Jon and the army they led were still several days away from Harrenhal. They would meet with the Unsullied and the remaining fighters still alive in the Riverlands. How would Daenerys react to knowing her brother’s son had a greater right to rule than she did?

“Your Grace, my Lady Ser,” Podrick broke in softly. “What happens now?”

Brienne and Griff both turned to look at her squire. He and the dragons were more relaxed and calmer, watching them alertly. Though alert, they no longer had the tense, strained postures that had revealed their distress. Podrick leaned forward, as much as he could with Allwyn in his lap, to take in their responses.

“What do you mean?” Griff asked, accepting Catren when the brown dragon flew into his arms.

Allwyn curled in Podrick’s lap, lazy now that the tension had broken between Griff and Brienne. Podrick stroked the blue-grey dragon as he looked up at Griff with earnest, dark eyes. Brienne held out her arms, beckoning to the other dragons. Ardayn and Serdun, the most independent of the five, looked at her with polite interest. As was their nature, they turned their reptilian gazes to monitor the people watching from the castle behind them. Even so, both dragons still pressed into Podrick, a clear indication of how much their parents’ argument had upset them. Gallan took up Brienne’s offer and flew into her waiting arms. She hugged it close as it rested its head on her shoulder.

“What will happen to Ellaria Sand now?” Podrick elaborated, bringing Brienne’s attention back to the conversation.

Brienne stiffened and looked at Griff. Gallan, wrapped in her arms, also stiffened when it felt the tension in Brienne’s body. The blue dragon cried out and looked over to Griff. Catren, held in Griff’s arms, responded by wrapping its tail tightly around Griff’s waist. Griff didn’t tense as he looked soberly back at Podrick.

“She’ll return to Dorne, Pod,” Griff explained as he stroked Catren’s long neck in slow, soothing strokes. “She did what she did with Ser Manfrey and Lord Anders’s tacit approval. They feel she was defending Dorne and has been punished enough for her actions.”

“Punished enough?” Brienne repeated. “She murdered Myrcella!”

Gallan cried softly. Even Ardayn and Serdun turned from watching the crowd to look at her. Allwyn sat up in Podrick’s lap, its head turning from Brienne to Griff then back again. Catren tightened its hold on Griff, even while he stroked the brown dragon to soothe it. Brienne forced herself to calm. She had to remember how young the five truly were. They could feel her tension but didn’t understand it, especially so soon after witnessing their angry exchange.

“She murdered an innocent child,” Brienne continued, keeping her voice and posture relaxed. “There must be punishment for such a charge.”

“Ellaria also lost a daughter,” Griff pointed out, being equally careful to keep his tone and posture calm. “Even more, she had to watch that daughter die and rot before her eyes. Cersei didn’t endure that pain despite the hundreds of people she’s killed.”

“I agree that Cersei should be punished for her actions,” Brienne nodded, stroking Gallan’s neck, mimicking Griff’s action. “But that doesn’t excuse Ellaria.”

“Oberyn’s family was at war with the Lannisters,” Griff reminded. “And I already agreed to give them Ellaria in exchange for bringing _Dawn_ to King’s Landing.  Myrcella was one innocent but Westeros is filled with many innocents. Brienne, you cannot focus on one child’s death when we need to save all of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Griff paused to gauge her reaction. Brienne sighed heavily and dropped her head to rest her cheek against Gallan’s neck. The blue dragon responded by rubbing its head against her hair. Brienne understood Griff’s reasoning but couldn’t help but think of Jaime. He’d been given a single moment of joy with his daughter, to be her father, before she was so cruelly taken away from him. Most people thought of Jaime as dishonorable but that was only because they didn’t understand the truth of the sacrifices he’d made. How were these terrible events affecting him?

“Brienne, is avenging Myrcella’s death worth more than the goodwill of the powerful, slighted lords who have brought an army to our doorsteps?” Griff asked quietly. “Are you willing to sacrifice every other innocent child between here and Dorne for Jaime Lannister’s daughter’s memory?”

Immediately, Brienne’s mind went to Ela and the other babies still in the maester’s chambers. Myrcella had been innocent but she was only one of many innocents sacrificed for poor choices. The Riverlands were filled with innocent children, some the starving offspring of slaughtered fighters, others the unwanted reminders of savage assaults on helpless women. A war with Dorne would plunge the Stormlands and the Reach into the same horrors that plagued the Riverlands. It would take all of Griff’s compassion and resources to restore one devastated region. How would he cope with the destruction of two more regions, especially if diplomacy could save the people from bloodshed and horror?

“No,” Brienne admitted with a heavy sigh, “Preventing war with Dorne is more important.”

Griff nodded. “And what about your little Love?”

“Love?” Brienne looked up. “What do you mean?” 

“Jorrāelagon,” Griff expanded. “What is her future in King’s Landing as an unwanted child of the streets? Here, she’s just another orphan cast aside because she doesn’t look the way the narrow-minded lords expect her to look. She and the other children will fit in amongst the Dornish. Ser Manfrey has given me his word that the children will be fostered at Sunspear, as safe as they can be, while still close to you, and still in Westeros.”

“You’re taking Ela away?” Brienne gasped.

“Only while we face the threat of the Army of the Dead,” Griff assured her. “Once the threat has been defeated, and I take my place as king, it’ll be safe for her to return.”

“But will she really be safe in Dorne?” Brienne asked, her hands stilling on Gallan’s back. “How can we be sure Ser Manfrey won’t treat the children as hostages while they’re in his care?”

“Manfrey is angry and desperate for revenge but he’s not stupid,” Griff explained. “I have blood rights to the Dornish throne and already hold the loyalty of the majority of lords. Opposing me would turn most of the powerful Houses against him. He won’t survive war with me and the other lords.”

“Plus, the dragons are protective of the babies, too,” Podrick added. “Ser Manfrey wouldn’t dare harm them once he sees how they play with Ela. Only a fool would risk the wrath of dragons.”

Podrick looked to Griff for confirmation. Griff smiled his slow, satisfied smile that he’d inherited from Oberyn Martell. His eyes glittered with approval as he nodded to her squire.

“That’s a very good suggestion, Podrick,” Griff praised. “Observing such an interaction will remind Ser Manfrey that the dragons now hold the Dornish throne. We’ll answer disloyalty with fire and blood, if necessary. It’ll also assure the children’s safety. Ser Manfrey will do everything in his power to keep Ela and the other children safe, knowing his own life depends upon it.”

Podrick sat up straight and expanded under Griff warm approval. Serdun and Ardayn, sitting on both sides of him, unfurled their wings and took to the sky. Now that the crisis had passed, they were eager to return to guard duty. Catren and Gallan also unwound themselves from Griff and Brienne and flew towards the warmth of the late-afternoon sun. Even from their distance, Brienne could hear the cries of awe and fear from the people watching them from the castle.

“Does that comfort you, Brienne?” Griff asked, moving closer to her. “The babies will be safe and well cared for in Dorne. They can have a future there, grow to become powerful warriors. Isn’t that why you saved them? So they can have a chance to live and a future to strive for?”

“I…I hadn’t thought about their futures when I brought them to the maester,” Brienne confessed. “I only knew they needed help. But what you say is true. What good would it have done to save them if they have nothing to live for?”

“Wait!” Podrick suddenly straightened. “What about _Dragonbinder_? How can dragons hold the throne if there’s a horn that can enslave dragons in Dorne?”

Brienne gasped as a shudder passed through her. Griff caught her arm to steady her. Allwyn, still in Podrick’s lap, sat up straight. Above her head, the other dragons cried out at her distress. The people nearby mimicked their cries as some rushed to leave the courtyard. Brienne took deep breaths to calm herself.

“Brienne, are you alright?” Griff demanded.

She nodded even as tears gathered behind her eyes. “I’m fine but that horn terrifies me.”

“I understand but Manfrey doesn’t have Dragonbinder.” Griff rubbed her arm to soothe her, similar to the method he’d used on Catren. “I had my spies check the Dornish ship after they docked in Blackwater Bay. None of the lords brought the horn with them. I also have spies in Dorne, checking their castles and keeps. They haven’t found it, either.”

“That might mean the horn isn’t in Dorne,” Podrick surmised.

“If it is in Dorne, the lords will be fools to use it. I won’t spare them if they cause harm to the dragons,” Griff vowed savagely.

“You said most of the lords support you,” Brienne pointed out, fighting to keep herself calm. “They won’t risk using a weapon they know is a threat to the dragons. The few lords who don’t fully support you are getting what they wanted. Using that horn will only bring them pain and suffering.”

“That could mean Podrick is correct,” Griff concluded. “The lords don’t have the horn.”

“Do you think it’s still in King’s Landing?” Brienne asked, looking up at the sky.

The dragons, minus Allwyn, were circling above then, staying close even as they soared through the warm late afternoon breeze. Griff and Podrick also looked up to observe the four flying above them. Griff’s expression was sober when he looked back at Brienne.

“These five are powerful but still small. Their firepower is limited and they’re still vulnerable,” Griff noted. “They’re dangerous to an individual or a small group but an army can bring them down.”

Brienne shuddered again as she recalled her terror when Ardayn, Gallan and Serdun, only a month old at the time, has set the pirate armada’s sails on fire.

_“Brienne, fire can’t kill a dragon!” Griff caught her arm and dragged her away from the railing._

_She fought him. “No, but swords and arrows can!”_

“Maybe they shouldn’t be flying.” Brienne fearfully looked up again. “A bolt could bring them down at any second.”

“Brienne, calm yourself,” Griff urged, now rubbing her other arm, too. “No one will harm the dragons in King’s Landing. There are too many guards on the ground and I have too many spies in the shadows for anyone to get away with hurting the dragons.”

“And the people know the young dragons are here to help them,” Podrick added. “I’ve spent the last few days in the markets. The merchants are still afraid and unsure of the dragons but no one has shown anger or malice towards them.”

“I don’t believe whoever has the horn plans to use it now, Brienne,” Griff assured her. “As I said, these dragons are young with limited range. If a person wants dragons as weapons, he will go after the big ones. Why takes these five, who need to grow for at least another year before they’re truly dangerous, when they can take Drogon and Rhaegal instead?”

“But only the Dothraki and people who already know Drogon and Rhaegal are traveling with Daenerys,” Brienne insisted. “They’ll meet up with the Unsullied and men loyal to Jon Snow when they reach Harrenhal. None of them would try to enslave dragons.”

“Their meeting location is no secret,” Griff reminded her. “Daenerys’s armies move slowly because they’re in large groups and send scouts ahead. A small party or one traveling by ship can reach Harrenhal before they do.”

“Do you mean the Ironborn?” Podrick asked. “Queen Yara told us about _Dragonbinder_. She’s loyal to Queen Daenerys. Why would she tell us about the horn if she wanted to use it?”

“It’s not just the Ironborn who use ships, Podrick,” Brienne explained. She gasped. “Harrenhal! Your ancestor, Aegon the First, burned everyone in Harrenhal because they were enclosed inside the fortress walls. Do you think that’s what the person who has _Dragonbinder_ intends to do?  All of Daenerys’s forces are meeting at Harrenhal, along with the Riverlands fighters. If a person enslaves the big dragons, they can force the dragons to burn Daenerys’s entire armies in a single stroke!”

“How, Brienne?” Griff asked.

Brienne stared at him, confused. “What do you mean, how? By commanding the dragons to fire upon the men.”

“It’s not that simple,” Griff explained. “First, most of Harrenhal is a burned-out husk with many ways to escape. Second, the thief needs to communicate with the dragons. These five only know select commands in High Valyrian. How does Daenerys communicate with her dragons?”

Brienne and Podrick stared at each other. They’d been so alarmed by the knowledge of a weapon that could harm the dragons, they didn’t stop to consider how it could be used. Griff was right. Simply having _Dragonbinder_ wasn’t enough for the thief to _use_ the horn properly.

“I think Drogon and Rhaegal also follow commands in High Valyrian,” Brienne ventured. “It’s the natural language of dragons and Daenerys’s mother tongue. I don’t know which phrases they understand.”

Griff nodded. “Even if the thief knew the correct commands, ordering Drogon and Rheagal to fire won’t kill an entire army, only a section at a time. The dragons will fire then wait for the next order. Third, the thief doesn’t have a way to direct them. Don’t forget, the dragons still have their free will. What’s to keep them from firing on the thief’s men when ordered to burn?”

“So Drogon and Rhaegal can’t be turned against Daenerys’s armies?” Brienne questioned.

“They can,” Griff admitted, “but it will take the thief time and effort. It’s not like when Drogon attacked the pirate armada. Then, it was acting from its instinct to protect the five. It knew the pirates were a threat to the baby dragons and destroyed them. A thief, who Drogon doesn’t choose to follow, will have a hard time controlling the dragons.”

“Then who could control such a weapon?” Podrick asked. “Why risk using such a dangerous tool if it’s so hard to manage?”

“Fire is hard to manage,” Griff pointed out. “Yet we us forms of it, including wildfire, in battle. The goal of war is to inflict more damage on the enemy than they do to you.”

They fell silent after that sobering statement. Almost as one, all three of them looked down at Allwyn curled up comfortably in Podrick’s lap. The blue and grey dragon blinked lazily, relaxed and cozy in Podrick’s safe, protective arms. It made no effort to leave its warm haven, content to be held.

“Could someone use the horn just to hurt them?” Brienne asked. “Yara said the horn made a sound so horrible she tried not to hear it. It distracted her to such an extent that she couldn’t think properly. The dragons have even more sensitive hearing and emotional response than we do.”

Griff frowned. “It’s possible. The thief might have stolen _Dragonbinder_ to use as a defensive weapon, instead of using it for attack.”

“Then the dragons are safe as long as they don’t attack whoever has the horn?” Podrick asked hopefully.

Griff thought for a moment then shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning down. “I don’t know, Podrick. The thief hasn’t used it yet, so he’s either waiting for the right time or the horn isn’t here. It’s even possible the horn has been smuggled to Essos, in anticipation of new dragons being hatched from the rocks people are sure are hardened dragon eggs.”

“Dragon eggs?” Podrick gasped. “There are more dragon eggs in Essos? No one has been able to hatch them? Doesn’t a person need to be a Targaryen to hatch dragon eggs?”

Griff paused again, considering Podrick’s words. “It’s possible. The only people who have hatched dragon eggs are Brienne and Daenerys, both of whom have Targaryen blood.”

“I had help from Drogon,” Brienne reminded. “It was my blood mixed with a real dragon’s fire and magic. Daenerys birthed dragons with only fire and magic, without a dragon.”

“Also, most of the eggs in Essos are just stones shaped into dragon eggs,” Griff explained. “All the Targaryen blood and magic in the world won’t turn rocks into dragons.”

“So all we can do is wait?” Podrick surmised sadly, his eyes heavy with worry. “We won’t be able to identify the thief until it tries to use the horn?”

Griff looked just as concerned as he tilted his head to watch the dragons overhead. “No, we’ll continue searching and asking questions. We’ll take precautions but we cannot allow our fear to control us or limit the dragons.”

Brienne nodded in agreement. She looked down at Allwyn. While the others played and stood guard, this one snuggled in. But Allwyn was as fierce and protective as the others, ready to defend them when necessary.

“Allwyn, sōvegon,” Brienne encouraged. She scooped up the dragon and stroked under its neck. “Don’t you want fish?”

“One month with you and all it wants is to be held,” Griff murmured as he raised his eyebrows at Allwyn. “You spoil them.”

“They perform flawlessly when necessary,” Brienne insisted. “They’re still babies, even younger than Ela.”

Allwyn made a production of unfurling its wings and stretching. Then the little actor sprang from Brienne’s arms and thrust itself into the sky, gliding majestically above their heads before rising to join the others. Their audience, staying near the safety of the castle walls, cried out in awe and delight as the five swooped through the sky above the glistening bay.

Brienne watched them for a moment before turning back to Griff.  Her king was still looking up, watching the dragons with the same affectionate half-smile she knew was on her face. For all his attempts to be stern, he was as enamored with the five as she was. The discipline he provided them was making the dragons stronger and smarter but he spent as much time holding them and giving them affection as she did.

The dragons’ discipline came from watching and learning from the _Golden Company_. They had observed when Griff trained his men and they’d proved to be apt pupils, learning strategies to protect themselves and those they held dear. The dragons were in King’s Landing, with them, while a portion of the _Golden Company_ had landed in Westeros. Griff had told her he didn’t want to jeopardize their mission by telling her about it within the walls of the Red Keep. But they were no longer within the walls.

“Griff, where is the _Golden Company_ now?” Brienne asked quietly.

He paused for so long she was worried he wouldn’t tell her, not even here in the privacy of the godswood. It was the calculation gleaming in his eyes that told her he was debating on how much to reveal to her. Finally, Griff took a deep breath.

“They’re taking territory,” Griff admitted.

“Why?” Brienne burst out. “I thought you understood Westeros needs a champion, not a conqueror. Why are you taking territory when you should be protecting the people?”

“I _am_ protecting the people,” Griff insisted. “I’m protecting them from enduring a war between Daenerys and me. Such an event will tear the kingdoms apart.”

“What?” Brienne shook her head. “How does taking territory protect the people?”

“We don’t know when the Night King and his Army of the Dead will strike,” Griff pointed out. “But we do know Daenerys will confront me, perhaps in a matter of days. I need men, castles and armies to stand against her. With the Dornish on my side, I can match her men for men. I even have the stronger position since the Dornish know the territory and how to attack from the shadows. Now my men are creating alliances in the southlands. I need the southern lords to stand with me and build fallback positions for my armies.”

“Daenerys has dragons,” Brienne spoke through a tightening throat. “Two fully grown dragons who follow her commands. The greatest armies in the world cannot stand against dragons.”

“We won’t go against Drogon and Rhaegal,” Griff assured her confidently.

“Why not?” Brienne demanded. “Daenerys _rode_ Drogon into battle against the Lannister army’s rear guard. Drogon broke their defensive line in seconds. She took all three dragons north of the Wall to battle the Wights. Her dragons are battle trained.”

Despite herself, Brienne could feel the anxiety quicken in her blood. Her voice rose, overcoming her best efforts to keep it even. Over their heads, the dragons cried out and headed back for them. Serdun and Ardayn landed first, taking up defensive positions and screeching up at the people near the castle. The people, well out of fire range, cringed reflexively as many hurried into the safety of the castle.

Catren, Gallan and Allwyn reminded in the skies over their heads, looking for threats.

“Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa!” Griff called, even as he reached out to pull Serdun and Ardayn closer to his side.

Catren, Gallan and Allwyn landed one at a time, with Allwyn landing first, followed by Gallan and finally Catren. The dragons circled around them, alternating from looking up at the castle and over their little group.

“Drogon and Rhaegal won’t attack us because we have these five,” Griff explained.

Brienne stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“Drogon won’t attack us or the little dragons, Brienne,” Griff insisted. “Nor will it allow anyone else to attack them, either. No matter where they are, Drogon will come to their aid. The dragons won’t fight each other.”

“You’re forgetting the Targaryen civil war,” Brienne reminded him. “The dragons fought against other dragons then, just as Targaryens fought each other. Why would it be different now?”

“Because these dragons were born directly of Drogon,” Griff said. “We know Drogon cares for them even more than it loves Daenerys. In the Dragonpit, it chose to follow the young dragons rather than remain with Daenerys. Its natural instinct to protect the five. It will do so, even if it must protect them from its own mother.”

_Daenerys leaned forward, but still touched the now-sleeping dragons on either side of her. “Do you see the problem this presents, Lady Brienne? I conquered the slave cities in the Bay of Dragons because my dragons were at my side. Now, their loyalties are divided between me and the five dragons Drogon brought into this world.”_

_So, this was the true reason for Daenerys’s meeting. She was worried about her power again. Her dragons were her ultimate weapons, she needed them at her side. Drogon’s offspring may have brought her the joy of new life but they weakened her control over her children, thus weakening her power. Even Rhaegal had left her to protect the young dragons._

_“We have the same goal,” Brienne pointed out quietly. “We all want to keep the dragons safe. These five are Drogon’s children. It’s a parent’s natural instinct to protect their child. Losing Viserion has made Drogon and Rhaegal diligent about protecting the five. They’re family.”_

Brienne gasped, recalling her meeting with Daenerys and Missandei their first night in the Red Keep.

“You’re right,” she agreed and told them about her conversation with Daenerys and Missandei. “Daenerys knows it, too. She’s already witnessed Drogon and Rhaegal choose these five over her. Does that mean we don’t have to fear another Dance of the Dragons?”

“It does,” Griff reassured her. “If Daenerys knows she can’t use dragons against me, if Tyrion explains my armies are stronger than hers, if Jon Snow is as great a conciliator as he’s been said to be and if Dorne remains peaceable, she may continue to focus on the Army of the Dead while we focus on saving the living.”

“That won’t last,” Brienne cautioned. “Daenerys wants to conquer. She’s sacrificed everything to rule Westeros. She won’t give up the throne simply because you tell her to.”

“What will she do?” Griff asked. “Will she leave Jon Snow to fight the Night King alone and bring her Dothraki and Unsullied back to King’s Landing? Then what? Will she try to attack the capital where the young dragons are? Do you think Drogon will allow any army, even its own mother’s army, to attack the five? You saw what Drogon did to the pirate armada. It didn’t just defeat it. It _destroyed_ it.”

“You’re trying to use her dragons against her.” Brienne stared at him. “It won’t work. You’re using strategy and logic against a woman who operates from her ambitions and emotions.”

“She may be ambitious and emotional, but her advisors are not,” Griff pointed out. “Jon Snow is focused on defeating the Army of the Dead. He commands the North. They won’t follow her, or accept her, if she abandons him and the Northmen.”

“Jon Snow and the North won’t follow you, either,” Brienne insisted. “You only control Dorne. Is that enough?”

“No, Brienne, I hold more than Dorne,” Griff corrected. “Through the contract Daenerys signed with the _Golden Company_ , I also hold the most powerful keeps Stormlands, the Crownland and the Reach. Most of the southlands are falling under my, or my men’s, command.”

 _“HS can stand for Harry Strickland,” Jorah said, studying the scroll. “He’s the current leader of the_ Golden Company _.”_

_“Aye, if it is, then I know what the scroll means,” Jon said. “Waters and Storm are the surnames of bastards, as is Snow in the North. Their men want titles and lands in the Stormlands and the Crownlands.”_

_“That makes sense, Khaleesi,” Jorah agreed. “Your brother Rhaegar’s strongest allies were in the regions closest to King’s Landing. They were cast out or lost lands and titles when Robert took the Iron Throne.”_

_“Then a rose without thorns would be the Reach,” Tyrion surmised. “Harry Strickland is asking for Highgarden in exchange for fighting honorably.”_

Brienne stared at her king, as more pieces fell into place. Daenerys had indeed agreed to hand over the wealthiest keeps and castles in the southlands to the _Golden Company_ officers, and their secret leader, Aegon Martell Targaryen. Griff, through tactic, strategy and his Martell blood, was quickly taking command of three of the Seven Kingdoms.

“You now control most of the southlands through them,” Brienne noted. “The areas that feed and provide for King’s Landing. Food and supplies will flow into the capital again once you make those holdings productive. The people here will give you their loyalty when they see you’re taking care of them. You’ll hold Dorne, the Reach, the Stormlands and the Crownlands.”

“I have even more than that.” Griff smiled his slow, satisfied smile. “I also have the North.”

Brienne jerked back in shock at his statement. “No, you don’t. Jon Snow is the King in the North. Daenerys pressured him to bend the knee to her but he refused. He said he would only accept her as his queen if she defeated the Night King.”

Griff nodded. “She hasn’t defeated the Night King, has she? Until she does, or if she only does it with help, then Jon Snow’s loyalty remains with you.”

“Me?” Brienne’s eyes opened wide. “Jon Snow is a king. He doesn’t owe me loyalty.”

“But he gave it, just the same,” Griff insisted. “If my sources are correct, his exact words to your father were ‘My family is deeply indebted to your daughter. Rest assured, should she ever require it, _House Stark stands at her back_.’ Whether he intended it or not, the King in the North has publicly, and often, pledged his loyalty and his house to _you_. You are mine, thus, his pledge is also mine. You, Brienne, have given me the North.”

Griff was right. Jon Snow was an honorable man. His word was his bond. It was known that the son of Ned Stark would be true to his word.  Brienne’s mouth dropped open as she recalled many interactions with and regarding the King in the North.

_“Brienne.” Jon took small, slow steps closer to her. “You saved Sansa and created a bond with House Stark that will never be broken.”_

_Brienne looked at Jon. He caught her gaze and smiled reassuringly. He stood tall and straight, a king in his own right with Davos at his side. Jon shifted slightly, symbolically shielding Brienne and the dragons._

_“Brienne is under the protection of House Stark,” Jon snapped. “If you insult her again, I’ll forget you’re a man of honor.”_

_“King Jon clearly holds you in high regard, Lady Brienne,” Missandei noted as she settled back in her seat. “He’s very protective of you.”_

Jon Snow _had_ publicly and repeatedly pledged his loyalty and House Stark to her. He’d honored that pledge by protecting her from Jaime’s anger and Daenerys’s demands. But she was a knight, and hadn’t even been that, when Jon had first pledged House Stark’s support to her. He was a king, leader of the largest region in Westeros. Did his words to her stand if Daenerys demanded his loyalty? Had the King in the North, unknowingly, pledged the North to the true King of the Seven Kingdoms?

Brienne looked around but didn’t see the setting sun, the lush godswood, the imposing Red Keep, the people or even the dragons. She saw the handiwork of the Gods. Stunned silent, she marveled at their command of men and their destinies. She’d felt fortunate when Lady Catelyn had accepted her, a disgraced Kingsguard on the run, into her service. As a sworn sword, it had been her duty and privilege to return Lady Sansa to her brother. The brother who’d risen to a king and stood on the edge of a great destiny of his own.

Could Jon Snow be the key to lasting peace in Westeros?

 


	40. Crossbow Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They stood in a room filled with hardened men who had seen many battles, the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms who’d seemingly risen from the dead, the brothers of the disgraced queen who had murdered their parents and their loyal men, Dornish lords who had no love for southland Houses and living, fire-breathing dragons.

### Chapter 40 – Crossbow Keeper

The next morning, Brienne studied the assembled men and women in the Throne Room. These were the lords and ladies of the nearby keeps and castles of the Stormlands, the Reach and the Crownlands. Some of them were so young they should still be in the schoolroom, studying past wars not facing the upcoming Great War. But these boys, and some girls, now carried the burden of their Houses and their people, thrust into power after their parents had died in the explosion of the Sept of Baelor.

Many of the young leaders could not hide their fear. Their faces were pale and tense, shiny with sweat, their lips pressed together until bloodless. They stood in a room filled with hardened men who had seen many battles, the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms who’d seemingly risen from the dead, the brothers of the disgraced queen who had murdered their parents and their loyal men, Dornish lords who had no love for southland Houses and living, fire-breathing dragons. Brienne admired the young leaders’ courage for standing in the assembly.

“Are you ready, Podrick?” Brienne asked quietly.

She kept her body still but allowed her gaze to take in the room. Podrick waited beside her, equally steady, at the foot of the remains of the Iron Throne. Serdun, Catren and Ardayn formed a line in front of them. Their positioning was wide, leaving room for Gallan and Allwyn to take places between them. The three dragons sat tall and straight, aware they were the main focus of everyone in the hall.

“I am, my Lady Ser,” Podrick assured her, his gaze darting around as he also surveyed the assembled crowd.

Podrick moved to the other side of the dais to stand behind Ardayn. Griff would stand before this crowd with his back to the dragons and the remains of the Iron Throne. The positioning was a deliberate and inspired decision. It made it clear to everyone assembled that the dragons were powerful enough to destroy anything, including the grand illusions of past kings. It would also limit those who came to stand with him to only those the dragons trusted. No man with false intentions would dare turn his back on dragons.

Griff walked through the crowd to the steps before the Iron Throne, Gallan and Allwyn flying at his back. The lords and ladies, young and old, gasped and stumbled away, their natural fear of dragons overwhelming their learned respect for monarchy. They quickly reassembled as Griff, Allwyn and Gallan reached the raised steps, giving them distance and the illusion of protection from the most powerful creatures in King’s Landing.

The Prince of Dorne wore a brown leather jacket impressed with a gold spear piercing a red sun on an orange field, the sigil of House Nymeros Martell. He stopped directly before the remains of the throne created by his ancestor, Aegon the First Targaryen. _Dawn_ , the extraordinary sword of House Dayne, hung at his hip. Allwyn and Gallan joined the other dragons, landing with practiced precision. Even the frightened young lords and ladies gasped, wide-eyed and awed, at their performance.

“My lords and ladies, Westeros is at a critical and dangerous point in its history,” Griff began. “We face starvation, disease and a war against an army unlike any we’ve ever known before. You’ve all heard stories of the threat beyond the Wall and thought it fanciful tales meant to frighten children.”

Griff paused and looked around the room. Some of the younger lords and ladies looked even more afraid while the older lords looked at Griff with scorn.

“Aye,” a voice called out from the back. “I have no fear of grumpkins or snarks but I do fear foreigners with arakhs and dragons.”

Tyrion, showing the raw courage he so rarely was given credit for, stepped out of the crowd. He looked at Griff, his eyebrows raised in question. Griff nodded and waved Tyrion to stand at his side. The Hand to Queen Daenerys came to stand at Griff’s right. Several people gasped at the sight of the Lannister lion standing, unafraid and accepted, before the Targaryen dragons.

“The threat is real, Lord Hayford,” Tyrion said. “I have seen these creatures, these Wights, with my own eyes. Queen Daenerys took her dragons north of the Wall to fight the Army of the Dead. Even her dragons weren’t enough to stop them.”

“Then what can we, houses without dragons, whose armies have been destroyed by Queen Cersei or her bastards, do?” A plain-looking lady with greying blond hair but a strong, straight posture spoke out.

A murmur of agreement rose from the crowd. Griff leaned over as Tyrion whispered up to him. He nodded then straightened to address the woman.

“Your concerns are valid, Lady Tinda, and shared by many here,” Griff agreed. “Currently, the Army of the Dead is contained by the Wall. We have become lax in manning the Wall and guarding the realms of men. Once the Night’s Watch was a noble institution, maintained by men of honor. Our negligence has turned their castles into little more than sparsely populated penal colonies. My aunt and Jon Snow march with an army of fifty thousand men to reopen the sixteen shuttered castles and man them all with disciplined warriors.”

“That may guard us from fairytales but what guards us from those who are power-hungry?” Hayford spoke again. “We’ve seen only bloodshed since King Robert died. Joffrey the Cruel plunged us into war against the North and the Baratheons, Tommen the Weak gave us over to the Faith Militants and Cersei the Mad killed our blood and her own by destroying the Sept of Baelor. We suffered because of the Lannisters. Now their men fill the tourney grounds and their imp stands at your side.”

Again, Tyrion reached up and Griff leaned down. After a quick exchange, both men turned to face the angry lord.

“We no longer have the option of standing against each other, Lord Hayford,” Tyrion said quietly. “The Westerland troops are committed to marching north to aide Queen Daenerys and Jon Snow, to protecting us all. They will provide the secondary line of defense if the Army of the Dead pass the Wall and enter the lands of men.”

Hayford snorted. “You offer us only words, imp. Words will not protect us.”

“No, but the Dornish will.” Ned spoke from the crowd.

The young Lord of Starfall took a deep breath and walked to Griff’s left side. Only Brienne, facing him, saw the look of stark terror on his face as he stopped beside his prince, within Serdun and Allwyn’s firing range. He looked at the dragons, his fear visible. The dragons looked back at him with the same polite interest they showed to Tyrion. Ned closed his eyes briefly before he schooled his features into calm confidence and turned to face the crowd.

“While your lords and kings went to war, our wise Prince Doran kept us out of conflict,” Ned continued. “Our armies are strong and whole. We have already marched into the Reach and the Stormlands. We will join with our prince, Aegon Martell Targaryen, and protect your homes and families.”

The murmur of whispered conversation erupted amongst the leaders. Tyrion, standing on Griff’s other side, stiffened. Griff glanced at him then looked past him to Manfrey. The castellan nodded with satisfaction. Griff then turned his head to look at Jaime, standing stiff and controlled, at the back of the group. Jaime’s mouth tightened but that was his only response.

“The Dornish have no love for Crownland houses,” Tanda, the Lady of Stokeworth noted. “Why would you protect us?”

“Because they, like you, have sworn their allegiance to me,” Griff answered.

Many of the leaders began to protest, some even shaking their heads. Tyrion’s eyes widened as he looked from Griff to the leaders then back to the Prince of Dorne. Griff held up his hand to silence everyone. He smiled his slow, satisfied smile.

“My men now hold Storm’s End in the Stormlands, Highgarden in the Reach and Rosby in the Crownlands,” He explained. “You pledged your loyalty to your liege lords. Their loyalty is to me. You are my people. I will ensure your protection.”

A gasp passed through the crowd. Even Tyrion echoed it. Jaime exchanged grim looks with his brother and also surveyed the shocked, confused crowd.

“Those castles have been promised to the _Golden Company_ ,” Tyrion protested. “Queen Daenerys agreed to give them in exchange for the company aiding her in securing the Iron Throne.”

“And so we did.” Griff smiled with cool satisfaction. “You were here to witness the event.”

Brienne saw Tyrion jerk visibly at hearing Griff’s claim. But then Tyrion didn’t know Griff was the secret commander of the _Golden Company_. He wasn’t aware that Griff’s men had been in Westeros for the past month, quietly taking over the regions and creating access points for the Dornish troops to filter into the southlands. The Hand to Queen Daenerys looked grim as he studied at the assembled lords and ladies, most of whom had, some unknowingly, pledged themselves and their houses to Aegon Martell Targaryen.

“You saw _Serjeant_ Brienne Tarth of the _Golden Company_ lead the dragons through the capital,” Griff continued. “She claimed the Iron Throne in the name of House Targaryen. She’s the reason my aunt now calls herself Queen of Westeros.”

Brienne stood very straight as the murmur rose to a rumble. People spoke amongst themselves, staring at her with eyes wide in shock and wonder. Some of the men frowned in disapproval while others seemed reluctantly impressed. The older ladies appeared confused while they few young ladies looked at her with a mixture of disbelief and admiration. Despite herself, Brienne couldn’t control the blush that stained her cheeks.

Tyrion turned to stare at her, his eyes wide, his face a mixture of shock, surprise and even a little awe. From the back of the group, Jaime had an identical expression on his face. Bronn, standing beside Jaime, looked thoughtful as he studied Brienne. She ducked her head but couldn’t control the heat in her face.

Why had Griff called her Serjeant? She was only an officer with the _Golden Company_. She’d hidden her commission in her childhood bedroom in Tarth but had admired it often enough that she could see the parchment when she closed her eyes. It wasn’t the most important issue at the moment but it allowed her a moment’s distraction from the noise and confusion inside the Throne Room.

“You’re the son of the Prince Rhaeagar, the rightful ruler of Westeros,” Hayford said. “You say we pledged ourselves to you. How will you protect us? What will keep the Dragon Queen from attacking us with her dragons when she finds out?”

“My right to kingship is superseded by your right to safety and protection, Lord Hayford,” Griff assured. “I won’t go to war against my aunt. She remains committed to the army of men while I remain here to oversee the duties of the kingdom.”

“But she has dragons, too,” a childish voice called out. “Her dragons are bigger than yours.”

The crowd shifted to reveal a young girl of no more than eight standing beside a soberly dressed older woman. The girl wore her dark brown hair in a long braid that lay upon her shoulder. Her gown, though made of fine silk, was ill-fitting, as if it had been hastily altered. Griff bent down to confer with Tyrion before addressing the child.

“Lady Elinor, I understand your concern.” Griff’s voice was noticeably gentler as he spoke to the young leader of House Massey. “Stone Dance is close to Pentos. No doubt you’ve heard of the damages inflicted by my aunt’s dragons. Those dragons are not a threat to us.”

Elinor’s little mouth puckered with her frown. “But what will stop them?”

“They won’t attack us because Drogon, the biggest dragon, is father to these five dragons,” Griff explained. “Would your father have allowed anyone to hurt you, even if that person was your grandmother?”

Elinor shook her head. “No, Father wouldn’t let anyone to hurt me. But Grandmother loves me, too. She takes care of me now that the Mad Queen killed Mother and Father.”

Elinor shift her small body in an attempt to shield the older woman beside her. The woman placed a steadying hand on the girl’s shoulder and blinked back the moisture in her eyes. Brienne swallowed hard to keep tears from springing into her own eyes. She was a knight. Knights didn’t cry, not even when they witnessed young children forced to be brave because of the cruelty and reckless ambitions of older, less caring people.

She saw Tyrion’s shoulders slump at viewing the small Lady of House Massey. In the back of the room, Jaime grimaced and hung his head. War was an evil thing, killing indiscriminately and making orphans of innocent children. Elinor was one of the lucky ones, with some family left to protect her. Griff turned his head to look at Brienne. His expression was stark but calm, though his indigo eyes were troubled. He turned back to face the assembled crowd.

“It’s just as you say, Lady Elinor,” he agreed. “My aunt, Drogon’s mother, cares for these five as your grandmother cares for you. The dragons will not go to war against each other. We will all work together to protect the people of Westeros, no matter what region they come from.”

Brienne watched Tyrion’s body stiffen as he looked back at the five. The dragons continued to watch the crowd, knowing Tyrion was no threat to their family. Tyrion looked from the dragons to Griff then to Brienne. Stark realization was apparent in his wide eyes. He knew as well as she did that Aegon Martell Targaryen was swiftly taking control even as he promised to work with Daenerys and Jon Snow.

Tyrion now realized Daenerys’s greatest power, her dragons, had not only been nullified, but was a threat to her. Drogon would destroy any army, including the Unsullied and the Dothraki, if it attempted to attack the five. Dragons had free will, powerful emotions and the ability to sense intent. Drogon and Rhaegal had already chosen the young dragons over their own mother. Even more, Drogon had chosen Brienne and Griff to raise the five. It would not tolerate a threat to the young dragons’ guardians.

“Many of the lords from Dorne will depart today,” Griff announced. “They will return to manage their homes or guide the troops who will protect your homes. Lord Ned Dayne, of Starfall, will remain in the capital to represent Dorne.”

Ned, still standing beside Griff, bowed. “It will be my honor, your Grace.”

Griff looked into the crowd. “Ser Balon Swann, of Stonehelm, son of Lord Gulian Swann, will represent the Stormlands.”

Balon separated himself from the crowd and came to stand next to Tyrion. It was a testament to the knight’s courage that he didn’t even glance at the dragons. In return, the dragons looked at him with polite interest but remained in their places.

Balon also bowed to Griff. “It will be my honor, your Grace.”

“Lord Tyrion Lannister, of Casterly Rock, will represent the Westerlands,” Griff continued.

Tyrion blinked rapidly at the unexpected appointment but kept his expression calm. He was Hand to Daenerys but Griff had still included him in his council. Brienne could almost see the dwarf’s quick mind work through the possible advantages and disadvantages of the position.

Tyrion bowed to Griff. “It will be my honor, your Grace.”

Griff looked into the crowd. “Lady Tanda, will you agree to represent the Crownlands?”

Tanda’s eyes widened. “Me, your Grace? I…I would be honored.”

“But she’s a woman,” Hayford protested. “You cannot allow a woman to sit on your counsel. They’re unsuited to manage such power. Cersei Lannister was proof of that.”

Blood flushed into Brienne’s face. She took deep breaths to keep herself from reacting to the lord’s ignorant comment. Men had always thought less of her, too, simply because of her gender. They thought her too masculine for a woman but too feminine to achieve greatness. She’d proven them wrong time and again. This man was no different than most Westerosi lords. The dragons, sensing her spiking emotions, stiffened and looked around for the threat.

“The Dornish have had many great female leaders,” Ned said quietly. “Prince Aegon and I are both descendants of Queen Nymeria herself. The fault lies in the weakness of the person, not in their gender.”

“Westeros has also produced powerful women,” Griff added. He smiled back at Brienne. “You stand before one now.”

Hayford flushed as he looked at Brienne. “I meant no disrespect, my Lady.”

Brienne looked at him. No matter his words, he had disrespected her and every other woman in this room. Some of the girls here would have to make hard decisions, stand for their people in a time of possible devastating war. The Seven Kingdoms would not survive if men like Hayford stood against women like Tanda Stokeworth or even Elinor Massey. Brienne stepped forward so she was almost touching Serdun.

“My Lady _Ser_ ,” Brienne corrected. “I’m a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, knighted by _Queen_ Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen.”

“She’s even more than that,” Podrick, normally quiet and respectful, spoke up, his voice strong and clear. “ _My_ Lady Ser is heir to Tarth, serjeant of the _Golden Company_ , keeper of dragons, the Gods’ warrior and Lightbringer.”

There was a long silence after Podrick’s pronouncement. The assembled lords and ladies looked at each other then back at Brienne, some with shock or reluctant approval and others with undisguised disdain. She looked at the combination of pride and admiration in her squire’s expression. Podrick’s face flushed with color but his stood strong and sure, his chin raised, as if daring others to comment. Once again, she couldn’t control her blush. The dragons puffed up, unable to find the source of their mother’s anxiety, and hissed at the crowd, extending their wings to their full, impressive width.

The people cried out and began to back away. Griff stepped back and stroked Catren and Gallan to soothe them. Podrick wrapped his arms around Ardayn’s neck while Brienne pulled Allwyn and Serdun closer to her. Fear soured the air as the leaders stared at the now anxious dragons. Tyrion stepped forward.

“Thank you all for attending.” He raised his voice to be heard over their worried cries. “You are dismissed.”

The people hurried for the doors, leaving as fast as they could without appearing to be running away. Some of the young lords and ladies didn’t even attempt that decorum and sprinted out of the room. Almost immediately, the Throne Room cleared as the assembled group rushed out of the seven doors and into the hallways. The Lannister guards, who’d been stationed outside the entrances, hastily shut the doors. Only the Dornish lords, the Lannister brothers, Bronn and Balon remained with Griff, Brienne, Podrick and the dragons.

Ned and Balon had backed away from the dragons, their hands held out, away their sword belts, to indicate they weren’t threats to the five. The dragons began to calm now that the crowd had left and Brienne was no longer upset. They folded in their wings, relaxed their bodies and snuggled into the warmth of the family members holding them. Jaime and Bronn came closer to the group, to stand by the lords, but still out of the dragons’ fire range. Only Tyrion stayed where he was, close enough to touch Ardayn. He smiled affectionately at the five.

“That’s the fastest I’ve ever seen this room clear,” he commented, unfazed by the dragons. “Well done, dragons.”

“Sȳrī gaomagon, zaldrīzoti,” Brienne corrected, as she released Serdun and Allwyn.

“Sȳrī gaomagon, zaldrīzoti,” Tyrion repeated, smiling at the five again.

The dragons, calm now, squawked and puffed under the praise. Podrick released Ardayn while Griff gave Catren and Gallan a final stroke. The dragons broke their defensive line to explore the room. Some of the tension left Brienne, too. The dragons would never leave their protective stances if they thought the Dornish lords meant them harm. Even Manfrey, whom they were sure supported the murders of Doran and Trystane, didn’t alarm the five. The five, however, alarmed the Dornishmen. They stiffened as the dragons began to prowl around the room. Bronn, seeing their obvious concern, grinned.

“You know they can sense fear, don’t you?” The knight hooked his thumbs into his sword belt and rocked back on his heels. “Best you not group yourself together like that. You’re too easy a target.”

The lords sprang apart instantly, some stumbling in their haste to make themselves less likely targets. Bronn snickered.

“Careful there, Lord Yarnwood,” Bronn cautioned. “Looks like you might have tripped on a length of wool or something.”

The lords, realizing the knight was japing at their expense, straightened and glared. Anders took a threatening step closer to Bronn. Serdun, exploring only a few feet away, hissed warningly at the Lord of Yronwood. Andres froze, staring wide-eyed at the dragon at Bronn’s back. Bronn glanced over at the green dragon then back at Anders, his eyebrows lifted.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” Bronn said with exaggerated deference. “I was just trying to be of service to you.”

“Bronn,” Tyrion hissed. “I heard they’re baking fresh lemon cakes in the kitchens today.”

Bronn shrugged easily. “Cake is nice. The cook is nicer. If you fine lords will excuse me, I think I’ll go down to the kitchens for a bite.” He paused and pretended to consider. “Maybe I’ll have some cake, too.”

Tyrion hissed out his breath again. Bronn swept a careless bow to the lords then walked past the remains of the throne to the carefully hidden servant’s door. The lords glared at Tyrion as if he was responsible for Bronn’s flippant attitude.

Tyrion shook his head. “If he wasn’t such an excellent swordsman, I’d be tempted to stab him myself.”

The lords continued to grumble and glare at the youngest lion. Jaime instinctively put himself between the lords and his brother. The Lannisters and the Dornishmen studied each other coldly. Balon stepped between them and calmly addressed Griff.

“Your Grace, shall I have the children brought in now?” Balon asked, keeping his head straight but following the dragons with his gaze.

“Children?” Brienne repeated.

Griff nodded to Balon before turning to Brienne. He took her arm and led her away from the men. Brienne looked past him. Podrick watched them with concern but the dragons were still wandering around the room, more interested in the cavernous hall than the stiff lords who watched them with fear and calculation in their eyes. Jaime frowned, also watching the five, but said nothing. The lords reformed their group, whispering amongst themselves. Brienne looked back to Griff.

“So soon?” Brienne demanded, trying to keep her voice even.

Griff’s expression softened. “Brienne, we discussed this. The children will be safer and better cared for in Dorne.”

“But Ela and the dragons,” she protested. “They’ll miss her.”

Unspoken was how much _she_ would miss the little baby, too. Ela was gentle and sweet and far too strong for a child so young. The little girl had survived abandonment, starvation and a short life of abuse and neglect. Yet she still had a sweet disposition and a resilient nature. Griff’s expression softened as he leaned closer to Brienne. She knew her understood how much the thought of separating from the babe upset her. He rubbed her arms comfortingly.

“Ela will be happy in Dorne,” Griff assured. “We’ll get her once it’s safe for her to return, I promise.”

Brienne’s reply was cut off when the main doors opened. Two Lannister guards came in carrying Cersei’s limp body between them. Her eyes were open but unseeing. The guards set her on her feet just inside the doors. Cersei swayed then crumpled to the floor.

“Cersei!” Jaime sprinted across the room to his sister.

Tyrion gasped and also hurried across the length of the great hall to his siblings. He looked back at the Dornish lords who walked down the hall to Cersei at a more sedate pace. Brienne turned away from Griff to grab Catren and Allwyn, the most excitable dragons. Seeing her, Podrick quickly grabbed Gallan. They needn’t have bothered. The dragons barely glanced at Cersei. They weren’t interested in or threatened by the former Queen of Westeros.

“What happened to her?” Jaime knelt beside his sister’s limp body and pulled her into his arms.

“Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa,” Griff called, drawing the uninterested dragons to his side.

Brienne, with Podrick close at her heels, also hurried across the vast hall. The lords, taller and longer-legged than Tyrion, reached Cersei and Jaime at the same time the youngest lion did. They surveyed the former queen with satisfaction.

“Her punishment began last night,” Anders smirked. “She broke in mere hours. You breed them weak here. A Dornishwoman would have survived for weeks.”

Brienne was shocked by the former queen’s appearance. Cersei’s expression was more remote and disconnected than even after discovering the depth of Qyburn’s vengeful machinations. She was still as beautiful as ever but so still she could have been carved from marble. Her eyes were open but blank, as if she were seeing something inside herself instead of the world around her. Cersei wore the same lavish gown she’d worn yesterday but it was wrinkled and stained, her short hair disarrayed. What had happened to Cersei that she was now like this?

“Ellaria survived for months,” Manfrey commented. “We put Cersei in Ellaria’s cell so she could spend the night with the ghosts of those she’d murdered in her madness and thirst for power.”

“Ellaria had Qyburn giving her strengthening tonics,” Brienne reminded. “That’s why she was able to survive.”

Manfrey looked thoughtful. “Perhaps we should ask for his mixture. Then maybe this feeble queen will last long enough for a fitting punishment.”

“You’re animals,” Jaime snarled, holding Cersei’s limp body against him.

“So says the man who murdered his own kin and helpless children to fuck his sister,” Daeron sneered.

Jaime’s face flushed but he had no reply. He pulled Cersei closer to him, as if to try to protect her, and glared up at the lords in helpless rage. Tyrion, who’d been looking at Cersei without expression, now turned to Jaime with sympathy.

Tyrion put his hand on his brother’s arm. “Jaime, we agreed to do this, to trade one life for thousands of lives.”

Jaime angrily shrugged off his brother’s hand. “Look at what they did to her! Is she even still alive?”

“Yes,” Andres answered. “She’s still alive. We only broke her mind, not her body. We didn’t realize she was so pathetic.”

Jaime faced flushed even darker with his impotent fury. Brienne looked at Podrick who stared at the former queen with wide, shocked eyes. He looked away to meet Brienne’s gaze. They exchanged grimaces. War was a truly ugly event but preventing it wasn’t much better. Jaime had agreed, they had _all_ agreed, to give Cersei and Gregor to the Dornish in exchange for a decrease in hostilities. Cersei’s poor decisions and ruthless ambition had nearly brought all of Westeros to destruction. The Seven Kingdoms couldn’t afford a war against Dorne while the northern armies, the Dothraki, the Unsullied and the Ironborn prepared to battle against the Army of the Dead.

Another group of guards came in, straining to pull a cart, covered with a sheet, into the Throne Room. They struggled with their burden into the center of the great hall. The men put the cart handles down as gently as possible but the heavy weight still clattered against the polished marble. In doing so, the cart tipped forward and the sheet covering the cart’s content fell away. The guards bowed and hurried out of the hall, as if trying to leave as quickly as possible.

Brienne went closer to see what was on the cart. She gasped and stumbled away from what she saw. The dragons immediately hissed and puffed, sensing her horror. The lords, still surrounding the Lannisters, immediately crouched down, trying to make themselves smaller targets. Ardayn and Serdun screeched as they flew across the room to Brienne’s defense. Only there was nothing to defend her from, except the unmoving horror strapped to the cart. Given the size and bulk, it had to be Gregor Clegane but the face and body were straight out of the stories told to terrify children.

His skin was the dull grey of death, covered with wounds, some open, some stitched shut, all oozing a foul odor worse than death and decay. Gregor’s eyes were shut but his chest still rose and fell, releasing more of the noxious, putrid puss with every motion. Part of the knight’s jaw was missing and deep gouges were cut into his throat.

“Is that...is that Ser Gregor?” Podrick squeaked, stumbling to Brienne’s side.

“Yeah, that’s the cunt,” Sandor affirmed.

Brienne turned to the doors. Gregor’s younger brother, the first victim of his cruelty, stood just inside the open doorway. Sunlight shone on the burn scars covering the side of his face. He’d received those scars when Gregor had held his face to a fire. Sandor looked at his older brother with visible loathing.

“Are you sure?” Podrick asked, eyes still wide with horror.

He, Brienne and Griff hurriedly gathered the dragons to hold them away from the cart. The five continued to hiss but allowed themselves to guided away from the abomination. The lords shifted the other way, away from the dragons, equally repulsed by the sight of the former Kingsguard. If she couldn’t see his chest rise, Brienne would have been sure he was dead.

“Yeah, I know some of the scars and what’s left of his face.” Sandor crossed the hall to the cart. He looked at his brother and sneered. “They tell me you suffer every day. That ex-maester took out part of your throat so he wouldn’t have to hear you screaming in agony.” He paused, looking over the monstrous creature his older brother had become. “You still deserve to suffer more.”

Sandor spat on his brother’s body and turned away. Everyone was silent and still as they watched him cross the hall to the hidden servant’s door. The sharp thud of the door slamming shut caused everyone to shudder. The dragons squawked and took to the air, circling around the room with furiously beating wings, looking for threats. The lords continued to crouch down to make themselves as small as possible. Jaime was already on his knees with Cersei in his arms while Tyrion was already small.

A soft cry came from the open doors. The dragons immediately came to the floor, searching for the source of the sound. Brienne gasped and looked to the horror of Gregor without armor. If looking at him sickened her, a grown, battle-hardened warrior, what would it do to a delicate babe who’d already experienced more trauma than any child should?

“Ela!” she cried, running to the cart. “The babies can’t see this.”

She and Podrick ran to the center of the room, both grabbing corners of the sheet and pulling it over Gregor just as Moqorro, with Ela in his arms, came into the Throne Room. He was followed closely by Balon, again carrying Ellaria, and the maester’s assistants, all carrying the swaddled babies. Brienne, Podrick and Griff grabbed the dragons, keeping them from going to the babies and their terrified holders. The assistants and Moqorro shrank back from the five while Ellaria hid her face in Balon’s neck.

Ela shrieked in joy and lunged for Brienne, almost launching herself out of the Red Priest’s arms. Slowly, Brienne released Ardayn and Serdun. The dragons remained calm and flew at her back as she crossed the room. Moqorro watched the dragons and shook visibly but held his ground. Ela had no fear of the dragons and strained to reach Brienne. She accepted the slight weight and hugged the baby close. The babe was even stronger and more alert than yesterday, wrapping her skeletal arms around Brienne’s neck.

“Brienne, the lords and I will take the other babies to the Dornish ship,” Griff said gently. “We’ll come back for Ela and Ellaria once they and the priest are settled.”

Brienne nodded, unable to speak past the pressure in her throat. She knew Griff was taking the lords away so they wouldn’t see how wrenching the separation would be for her. She pressed her face into Ela’s soft, sweetly scented neck and inhaled deeply. How could a child dig so deeply into her heart after only a few days? What was the significance of this small babe? She knew the Gods were guiding her and had guided her to Ela. Was it just to save the babies or did Ela have a greater role to play?

The assistants, lords and Moqorro were all eager to leave the Throne Room but the dragons were not. She knelt and placed Ela on the floor so the five could sniff the babe, assure themselves she was well. Brienne looked up at Manfrey, the man who would be responsible for the babies’ care. The castellan’s eyes were wide with shock as he watched the dragons circle around the happy little girl. Ela fearlessly used Gallan and Allwyn to rise up to her feet.

“Please take good care of her, Ser Manfrey,” Brienne requested. “Of all of them.”

Manfrey could barely tear his gaze away from the little girl who’d so easily bonded with the dragons. He finally managed to look at Brienne. The castellan’s expression was stark and tinged with fear. He nodded slowly.

“I’ll guard her with my life, my Lady Ser,” he vowed. “These children are under the protection of House Nymeros Martell. They will be safe.”

“Catren, Ardayn, Serdun, māzigon naejot issa,” Griff called quietly.

Reluctantly, the three dragons left Brienne and Ela to hover above Griff. Ela looked at them and cried sadly. Griff gave the baby a small smile and stepped aside to allow the lords and assistants to leave the room before him. They did so with alacrity, eager to leave the great hall even though Griff still had three dragons with him.

Griff was the last to leave. He smiled encouragingly at Brienne before he left, the dragons flying over his head. Ela, supported by Gallan and Allwyn, toddled after them. The guards stepped into the hallway and left the doors open, allowing Ela to watch the three dragons fly down at the hall above Griff’s head. Brienne swallowed down the heavy lump in her throat, blinking hard to keep the sadness from gushing out of her eyes. Podrick looked at her with concern and moved closer to her side. Brienne forced herself to smile to assure him she was fine.

She took a deep breath and looked at the baby only to realize Ela, with her dragon guards, had crossed the threshold into the hallway. She hurried to retrieve the baby. Something, a mother’s instinct or a flash of movement at the corner of her eye, caused her to turn her head as she reached the doors. Boros Blount, one of the disgraced Queensguard whom Tyrion had dismissed from Daenerys’s service, stood just inside the closed side door, wearing his previous Queensguard armor, and holding a crossbow in his hands. Instantly, she understood what she was seeing. 

_“Brienne, fire can’t kill a dragon!” Griff caught her arm and dragged her away from the railing._

_She fought him. “No, but swords and arrows can!”_

Her exchange with Griff, so many months ago, when they’d fought off the pirate attack on the _Sea Keeper_ , pounded in her head as a terrifying warning. Even as fear washed over her, she reacted instinctively to protect Gallan and Allwyn.

“Shut the door!” Brienne screamed at Podrick, as she grabbed the heavy door on her side.

Podrick, trained by her daily commands, complied instantly. He grabbed the door on his side and shoved it with an audible grunt. The doors shut just as two bolts lodged into the wood, exactly where the dragons’ heads would have been if Ela hadn’t led them out into the hallway. Brienne threw the bar into place, locking the doors, keeping the dragons and Ela safely out of the Throne Room.

She heard the dragons screech in fury but ignored them to face the threat in the great hall. Boros, Preston Greenfield, Osmund Kettleback and the two Queensguard, whose names she didn’t know, had come into the room. All five wore their previous Queensguard armor and held crossbows, rage and death in their eyes, all prepared to kill the young dragons.

Suddenly Cersei, who’d been a dead weight in Jaime’s arms until now, sprang to life. She pulled away from her brother, _Widow’s Wail_ in her hand. Jaime tried to grab for his sword but Cersei swung it in a practiced arc, cutting into his good hand. Jaime snatched his hand back and rose to his feet.

“Cersei, what are you doing?” Jaime demanded.

“What I should have done from the very beginning,” Cersei snarled. She swung the sword at Jaime again. “Ser Gregor, now!”

Gregor, who’d been as still as death until then, turned his head, his eyes open and glowing red with deadly intent. The former Queensguards advanced into the room. They still had crossbows in their hands. That was their first mistake. Their second was to forget that Balon and Brienne were seasoned warriors and former Kingsguards themselves, armed and able to react instinctively during an attack.

Balon, who’d hastily put Ellaria down, pulled out his sword even as he straightened. He stabbed it through the unfamiliar former Queensguard’s unprotected neck. The crossbow fell from the guard’s nerveless fingers as Balon caught him and turned to Preston, using the dead man’s body as a shield as Preston shot his crossbow.

Pounding came from outside the main doors. Then thuds as if heavy objects were being thrown at the wood. The pounding didn’t disguise the dragons’ screeches, their fury raising their cries until they echoed even inside the Throne Room. The thudding sound echoed from the other doors, too. The wood shook from the assault but held firm. The former Queensguards had barred the doors from the inside, trapping Brienne, Jaime, Podrick, Ellaria and Balon in with Cersei and the disgraced Queensguard.

“Brienne!” Griff’s voice could be heard clearly from the other side.

Brienne wasn’t listening. She advanced on Boros, fury and bloodlust crackling like a halo around her. If she or Podrick had been even an instant slower, these disgraceful excuses for men might have killed her dragons, her gifts from the Gods. Boros dropped the empty crossbow and reached for his sword, but it was too late. Brienne slashed his throat open with deadly accuracy.

Podrick pulled her back as a bolt flew by, so close to her head that she felt the disturbance in the air. Jaime growled like the lion he was and brought his golden hand down on the man’s wrist, breaking the bones with an audible snap, even through the guard’s armor. The man cried out as Jaime smashed his golden hand into the former Queensguard’s face.

Cersei ran to the cart and began slashing at Gregor’s bonds. Gregor was so strong he didn’t need her help. He sprang up, snapping the bonds and slid down the cart to the floor. Cersei tossed _Widow’s Wail_ at her bodyguard’s feet. Gregor was strong but his bulk worked against him. He reached down for the sword but Brienne was faster. She advanced on the undefeated warrior, kicking _Widow’s Wail_ away from him.

“Kill them!” Cersei screamed. “Kill them all!”

“Brienne!” Griff’s voice, even more frantic that before, rose above the screeching of the dragons.

Brienne couldn’t spare the energy to answer him. She jumped back to avoid Gregor’s punch, and slashed out with _Oathkeeper_. The blade just missed Gregor who responded by kicking Brienne in her midsection. Her distance from the knight saved her from broken ribs but the impact forced the air out of her lungs and weakened her grip on _Oathkeeper_. She turned away and took the next kick in her side. The impact was enough to throw her to the floor, _Oathkeeper_ tumbling out of her hands.

“Kill them!” Cersei screamed again. “Kill them all!”

Gregor raised his foot over Brienne’s head. He was still wearing heavy boots with thick soles. Brienne curled into a ball and threw her hands over her head, trying to cushion the impact of having her unprotected head stomped. A growl made her look up. Sandor flew over her head and plowed his shoulder into his brother’s chest. The impact was so great, it shoved Gregor back several feet.

Brienne looked around frantically. Cersei now had another sword in her hand and was trying to get to Ellaria, who cowered helplessly on the floor. Podrick stood over Ellaria, using his own sword to hold the former queen back from her prey.

“Die!” Cersei screamed, rage and madness glittering in her wildfire green eyes. “You’ll all die! Kill them! Kill them all!”

Nearby, Jaime delivered a final blow to the man he was fighting. He grabbed the fallen man’s sword just in time to block a swing from Osmond. But Osmond had two good, strong hands, armor and desperation on his side. He drove Jaime to his knees with his blows. Suddenly Bronn was at Jaime’s side, his sword out and already dripping with blood.

“You highborn arses,” Bronn snarled as he battled Osmond away from Jaime. “Didn’t think to block the servant’s entrance, did you?”

Brienne sat up as her lungs finally began to take in air. Balon was still fighting Preston, two dead Queensguard at their feet. A motion above her caught Brienne’s attention. The heavy cloth covering the largest stained-glass window, the one that contained the roaring lion sigil, fluttered though there was no breeze. Underneath it, the formerly golden lion was turning blood red. She stared at it for a moment in blank shock then realized what was happening. The dragons, unable to reach her through the heavy doors, were firing at the window, melting the glass.

Suddenly, the main doors burst open. Griff, with Catren and Allwyn above his head, Tyrion and the Dornish lords poured into the room. The new _Sword of the Morning_ unsheathed _Dawn_. As soon as the magical sword cleared the scabbard it flew out of Griff’s hand. _Dawn_ , the sword that selected its own wielder, that was rumored to have been forged from the heart of a fallen star, streaked across the _entire_ length of the hall. Brienne followed its projection and saw it was headed for Gregor and Sandor, who were both viciously raining blows on each other. Brienne threw herself at Sandor, knocking him away from his brother.  

Seconds later, _Dawn_ pierced Gregor’s chest with such force it lifted the knight off his feet. He fell with a mighty thud just as the stained-glass window shattered, sending a burst of burning cloth and red glass shards to shower into the Throne Room. Serdun, Ardayn and Gallan flew into the hall. Serdun and Gallan rushed to Brienne while Ardayn unleashed a stream of dragonfire on Gregor. The knight writhed and tried to rolled but _Dawn_ held him fast for Ardayn’s relentless assault. Gregor made fierce animal noises in his throat, unable to scream, as a stench worse than death and decay befouled the air.

Sandor, his eyes wide with fear and horror stumbled away from his brother’s flailing and rapidly disintegrating body. _Dawn_ , now that it no longer had Gregor’s bulk to hold it upright, tumbled into the smoldering remains of the former knight. Laying in the sooty darkness, the magical sword glowed even whiter with life and purpose.

A gleam of steel shone in the sunlight pouring in from the now uncovered window. Brienne, with Serdun and Gallan flying close to her, saw their Valyrian steel swords, _Oathkeeper_ and _Widow’s Wail_ , under Gregor’s blackened remains. She looked up when she heard a harsh grunt, just in time to see Bronn yank his sword out of Osmond’s now dead body. She looked over to check on Balon who was breathing heavily, his own bloody sword in his hand, the Queensguards dead around him.

“No!” Cersei screamed. “You’ll die! You’ll all die!”

She held her sword in a two-handed grip and rushed towards Podrick and Ellaria. Podrick, still dumbstruck at seeing Ardayn burn Gregor, was too slow to react in his own defense.

“Podrick!” Brienne ran down the hall, Gallan and Serdun flying over her head.

She was too far to reach her squire in time. Just as Cersei’s blade was about to cut into Podrick, he threw himself to the floor, covering Ellaria. Cersei stumbled past them then stopped herself and turned around, tears, rage and madness glittering in her eyes Sandor growled again and grabbed Cersei by her neck. Cersei cried out as Sandor wrapped his hands about her pale white throat and shook her, choking the life from her. She retaliated by striking at him with her sword. Sandor released her and staggered away, yanking the sword from her hand in the process. He held his torn side, blood pouring over his hands.

Cersei’s eyes bulged out of her head and she clawed desperately at her throat. But, after months of ingesting Qyburn’s poison, her nails were too fragile to rip it open, to give her the air her crushed throat could not. Instead her nails tore off, her bleeding hands leaving streaks in the bruises already rising on the damaged, weakened skin. Agony showed clearly in the former Queen’s eyes. Brienne gasped as she halted, Gallan and Serdun hovering at her head, and helplessly watched Cersei suffocate. The former queen’s face drained of color, her lips taking on a blue tinge, as she tried desperately to draw in air.

Cersei stumbled towards Brienne. “You…” she managed to gasp, rage and madness burning in her desperate wildfire eyes.

Serdun and Gallan shrieked in fury. Brienne grabbed them but not quickly enough. The two released enough dragonfire to set Cersei’s gown alight. The former queen was still on her feet and stumbled around as flames ran up her dress.

“No!” Jaime cried out in horror.

Brienne turned to see him grab his sword from underneath Gregor’s remains. The sword, now larger and heavier than it had been before, threw him off balance, causing Jaime to stumble. Brienne’s eyes widened as she stared at the strangely bigger sword. As Jaime ran closer, she looked at the sword and understood what had occurred.

_“Valyrian steel is a special material, stronger and more resilient than ordinary steel,” Daenerys noted. “Some say only dragonfire, blended with great magic, can forge such a mighty instrument.”_

She remembered Daenerys saying those words to her the night she’d called Brienne ‘Valyrian steel.’ Jaime’s sword was so heavy because Ardayn’s dragonfire had fused the two swords together. _Oathkeeper_ and _Widow’s Wail_ were once again a single sword. Dragonfire, blended with the Gods’ great magic, had re-forged House Stark’s greatsword, _Ice_.

Jaime used his golden hand to steady the greatsword. He stumbled to his sister’s burning body. Cersei couldn’t speak but the suffering in her eyes was too much for her brother. He pressed his golden hand to her breast. The appendage, cold, rigid and unable to transmit sensation, made Jaime incapable of feeling the flames licking against it. Using his golden hand to balance the blade, he plunged _Ice_ into his sister’s, _his_ _beloved’s_ , still beating heart. The sword emerged from Cersei’s burning back and bursts into flames.

It was too much for the dragons. All five rose and fired on Cersei. Suddenly, Jaime’s golden hand, still pressed to Cersei’s breast, flung back as if controlled by a force beyond his control. He released _Ice_ as his golden hand dragged him away from his sister’s burning body and tossed him to the floor. Immediately, Tyrion and Bronn began to stomp on his chest and legs to beat out the flames licking at Jaime’s clothes.

“Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa!” Brienne cried. “Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa, _please_!”

But her pleas went unheard. The dragons would not spare anyone who threatened their mother. They continued to fire and didn’t stop until nothing remained of Cersei Lannister, the former Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but ashes.

And a burning red sword.

 

 

 **Author’s Note** : I’m sorry I didn’t post last week. The American Thanksgiving Holiday started early and ended late for my family. I didn’t have much time to write. For those who celebrated it, I hope you had a safe and wonderful holiday.

So…what do you think? Did you expect the Stark’s greatsword to be reforged? Does it mean more than the resurgence of House Stark?


	41. Ice Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catren landed first, then Allwyn, Gallan, Ardayn and finally Serdun, all still screeching. They puffed and extended their wings to their fullest, making sure everyone knew they were ready to kill anyone else who meant harm to their family.

### Chapter 41 – Ice Keeper

 

“Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa!” Brienne pleaded again. “Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa, _please_!”

It was no use. The dragons would not come to her or calm. They left the ashes surrounding the burning red sword to fly in angry, wide circles, screeching madly, keeping Brienne, Podrick and Griff under their protection. The heightened emotions in the room: Brienne and Podrick’s blood rush, Griff’s frantic terror, Sandor’s physical pain, Balon and Bronn’s adrenaline overload, Jaime’s grief, Tyrion’s torment and the Dornish lords and Ellaria’s fear mingled together with the dragons’ own fury at almost losing loved ones. Their cries reverberated around the room until it sounded like a hundred angry dragons instead of only five.

Podrick stumbled closer to Brienne, pressing his hands over his ears to block out the din. “My Lady Ser—

His words were cut off when Brienne grabbed him in a fierce hug. Brienne shut her eyes but the images her mind replayed did nothing to calm her. Podrick had been seconds away from death. Only the Gods’ mercy, and the reflexes that had improved due to their sword practice, had kept him from being taken from her, from falling victim to Cersei’s sword.

“Podrick, are you alright?” Brienne demanded fiercely.

“Ye…yes, my Lady Ser,” Podrick gasped. “But I can’t…I can’t breathe.”

Brienne gasped and released him. Podrick had only taken a single deep breath before the dragons dove for them, coming to the floor to circle around them. Catren landed first, then Allwyn, Gallan, Ardayn and finally Serdun, all still screeching. They puffed and extended their wings to their fullest, making sure everyone knew they were ready to kill anyone else who meant harm to their family. They were so upset they didn’t realize no one left in the Throne Room was an enemy. Brienne knelt then pulled Gallan and Ardayn, the dragons closest to her, into her arms, hugging them as fiercely as she’d held Podrick a moment earlier. Griff repeated the gesture with Serdun and Catren while Podrick sat on the floor to pull Allwyn into his lap.

Held in the warmth of familiar embraces, the dragons began to calm. They stopped screeching and turned to the comfort of the humans holding them. Brienne understood their fear and relief. She was feeling the same over possibly losing Allwyn and Gallan to the former Queensguards’ crossbows and almost losing Podrick to Cersei’s madness. But they were all alive, all safe, thanks to their instincts and the innocent actions of a sweet, resilient street child.

“Ela.” Brienne turned to Griff beside her. “Ela led Gallan and Allwyn out into the hallway. I went after them to get her. That’s when I saw Ser Boros with his crossbow. If it wasn’t for Ela…”

Brienne couldn’t finish her sentence. But the words hung heavy in the air. If Ela, the child the Gods’ had taken her to, hadn’t walked out into the hallway, the dragons would have still been in the Throne Room. They might have fallen prey to arrows that could pierce their still-developing scales. Griff’s expression, already grim, tightened. Catren wound itself around him, rubbing its head frantically against his silver-blond hair. Serdun was held tightly under his other arm, Griff’s hold on the green dragon white-knuckled tight. Unlike Catren, who was still jittery, Serdun was quiet and still. The green dragon’s neck elongated to press against Griff’s body and it held its head against Griff’s heartbeat.

Brienne turned her head in the other direction to look at Podrick. Allwyn’s reactions were a mixture of Serdun and Catren’s. The blue-grey dragon had wrapped its tail around Podrick’s waist and it was pressed against Podrick’s body, its head hidden against his neck. Podrick soothed Allwyn with visibly shaky hands, betraying how unsettled his emotions were, too. Brienne looked down at Ardayn and Gallan, their heads on her shoulders, unprotestingly pressed against her, even though her grip was so tight her arms had begun to ache.

“Ela was the reason the dragons left my side,” Brienne continued. “She is the only other person they would follow. The Gods knew Cersei and her supporters would try to kill the dragons. Ela is the reason they were in the hallway, on the other side of the doors, and remained unharmed. I thought I was saving Ela but she saved Allwyn and Gallan.”

Griff’s face tightened and a tremor shook his body. He lowered his head to hide his expression in Serdun’s neck, Catren stilling against him. Serdun rubbed its head against Griff’s, as if offering its father comfort. Griff took a deep breath that set his shoulders and looked up, his face now composed.

“The smallest of warriors can become the greatest of heroes,” Griff said softly. “As you say, the Gods guide you to those they need to protect us all during the Long Night.”

“Young Ela is already a fierce daughter of Dorne. I have given you my word I will protect her with my life, my Lady Ser.” Manfrey’s voice was steady even as he continued to crouch close to the floor.  “The child will be safe in Sunspear.”

“Safe?” Griff snarled.

He rose from his knees, fury crackling around him, Catren still wrapped around his body. Serdun blinked and looked over at Brienne as Griff rose to his feet. Brienne and Podrick both held out their arms for the green dragon. Serdun flew over to settle between them, allowing Brienne and Podrick to shift closer, pressing the dragon securely between themselves. They exchanged uneasy glances before watching Griff’s progress across the hall.

Griff stalked over to the lords, so visibly angry, he was shaking. The lords shrank down even more. Catren flared out its wings, its brown color and red markings blending with Griff’s brown leather jacket with a gold spear piercing the red sun. Both leaders, one of dragons and the other of men, focused their rage on the Dornish lords. The pair breathed in time, their coloring and motions matching, almost as if the dragon and the blood of the dragon were blending into a single, fierce creature.

“You, Ser Manfrey, demanded we put Cersei in the black cells,” Griff reminded him harshly, wrapping his arms around Catren. “You couldn’t wait to return to Dorne before taking your vengeance. That left Cersei near Gregor Clegane, to plot with him and her agents to harm the dragons. Now you dare tell me you’ll keep Ela safe? Your poor judgement nearly cost me my children and their mother.”

“It wasn’t his fault, your Grace.” Brienne didn’t try to get up, knowing the dragons wouldn’t release her. “Cersei had many people loyal to her, from Queensguard to servants. She must have been planning with them for several days.”

“It _is_ his fault that he was fooled by Cersei,” Griff spat. “She looked helpless and pretended to be weak. He, idiot that he was, fell for her tricks.” Griff’s gaze went to Ellaria. “Only a fool judges a person on their theatrics without gathering true facts.”

Ellaria, who was huddled on the floor near the Dornish lords, paled. The horror was clear in her eyes as she realized Griff hadn’t been swayed by her tears and acting. Her gaze began to drift towards Manfrey before she caught herself. Instead she looked at the floor.

“Your Grace,” she spoke in her delicate, musical voice, “I humbly thank you, once again, for saving my life.”

“I will not hear you,” Griff snarled. “I’m no fool. I understand who you are.”

Ellaria flushed and hunch over, looking down at the floor. Griff’s icy glare shifted from Ellaria back to Manfrey. Catren, still wrapped around Griff, picked up his spiked emotions and hissed at the castellan. Manfrey exchanged tense glances with Anders. The men shifted away, watching Catren instead of Griff, forgetting both dragons were equally dangerous.

“Ser Manfrey, you’re a seasoned warrior yet you fell for the simplest of tricks,” Griff pointed out. “How can I trust you to lead Dorne in my name while I guide the Seven Kingdoms?”

The other lords, many of whom weren’t party to Manfrey and Ellaria’s schemes, also turned to look at the castellan of Sunspear. Ned even shifted closer to Griff, despite the threat of a still-angry Catren in his arms. Manfrey, seeing his standing and power base eroding before his eyes, went very still.

“I allowed my eagerness to take revenge on the Lannisters to cloud my judgement, your Grace,” Manfrey admitted.  He looked directly into Griff’s eyes. “I will not fail you again, I swear it.”

“No, you will not,” Griff agreed. “I won’t tolerate such a mistake again. Now, your stupidity has cost you your vengeance. Cersei Lannister and Gregor Clegane are dead. Your revenge died with them. There will be no more talk of giving Lannisters to Dorne to pay past debts.”

Tyrion, who had been standing consolingly at Jaime’s side, looked up, his eyes widening with surprise. Previously, Griff had only agreed to spare Tyrion and Jaime for the time being. Now, the Prince of Dorne had officially ended House Martell’s blood feud with House Lannister. Griff was trying to move Dorne past the bitter past to focus on their perilous future. A future they would only survive if they all banded together to fight the Army of the Dead.

Brienne looked from Griff to the red sword in Cersei’s ashes. Could this be a weapon, perhaps _the_ weapon of prophecy, that would lead them out of the Long Night? She tried to shift closer to see it better but the dragons hissed. Griff and Catren immediately turned to face them. Griff’s tense muscles and Catren’s flared wings were clear indications of their concern.

“What is it?” Griff demanded.

Brienne stroked Gallan and Ardayn, as Podrick hugged Allwyn and Serdun. They were as tense and vigilant as Griff and Catren. The dragons – all six of them – were on high alert, still fearful after the sudden attack. Even the smallest disturbance set them on edge.

“We’re fine. The dragons are still tense,” Brienne assured Griff.

Sandor, who was on his knees near the main doors, shifted and grunted in his breath. Brienne looked over at him and gasped. He was half-leaning, half-slumped against a pillar a few meters away. His face was heavily battered, the lower part of his shirt soaked in blood and sweat and the hand he had pressed to his damaged side was red with blood. Balon glanced over at Brienne and Podrick, or rather at the dragons huddled around them, then slowly rose to his knees.

“Your Grace,” the knight began.

“Yes.” Griff pressed Catren’s head to his shoulder. “Go to him, Ser Balon. He needs to be taken to the maester.”

Balon hurried across the hall to Sandor while Brienne and Podrick continued to hold the dragons. They were calming down now, still alert but no longer clinging so tightly. In response, many of the lords relaxed and began to slowly rise to their feet. Bronn moved closer to Jaime, putting his hand on Jaime’s other shoulder. Near the doors, Sandor grunted as Balon helped him rise.

Griff walked to the center of the room, near the cart that had been used to bring Gregor into the Throne Room. He studied the torn straps, proof of Gregor’s strength. Then he turned to survey Balon, Sandor, Bronn and Jaime. Griff’s eyes were dark and fathomless, almost black, testimony to the depth of his horror and receding fear.

“Ser Balon, Ser Jaime, Ser Bronn, Sandor Clegane,” Griff began. Then he looked at Brienne and Podrick and added. “Lady Ser Brienne and Podrick Payne. You protected those who are most precious to me. I will not forget your service.”

Though he had included Brienne and Podrick in his address, Griff looked at Bronn, Jaime, Balon and Sandor as he spoke. Bronn nodded but Jaime was still lost inside himself, staring at the ashes that had been his beloved sister. Balon, who was assisting Sandor, also nodded politely. Sandor looked at the bodies still littering the Throne Room floor. His face twisted between a scowl and a grimace of pain.

“They were cunts, the lot of them,” Sandor growled. “The fuckers were stupid enough to attack dragons. Then what? Those dragons would burn us all if their mother died.”

Almost reflexively, Griff shifted to stand in front of Brienne as Catren hissed again. The lords looked from Griff to Brienne, their eyes dark and knowing. Brienne’s cheeks flushed with color. Griff had named her and Podrick in his address, but they all knew Griff had acknowledged the men for protecting her as much as for protecting Allwyn and Gallan. She was Griff’s sworn sword but, when she needed protection, these were the men who’d fought for _her_ life.

“Your Grace, I’ll take him now,” Balon spoke. “Sandor’s cut is deep. It needs to be stitched shut.”

“I’ve had worse,” Sandor insisted. “It’s just a cut.”

Still, he allowed the courtly knight to assist him to the doors. Beyond them, Brienne could see the palace guards replace their swords into their belts. They were surrounding the maester’s assistants and the babies they held. Moqorro was with them, Ela safe in his arms. The little girl, seeing Brienne and the dragons, tried to launch herself out of the Red Priest’s arms. She cried out, attracting the dragons’ attentions. They turned to find the baby. Griff beckoned Moqorro to join them in the Throne Room. The priest took a deep breath then came to join them while the assistants, with the other babies, turned to follow after Balon and Sandor.

Moqorro bowed to Griff and looked over at the red sword. The flames had died out but the sword still glowed red. The dragons finally allowed Brienne to leave their side and go to the Red Priest. After bringing Ela to the dragons, they calmed noticeably. Allwyn left Podrick’s lap to sniff the baby. Gallan settled on Ela’s other side, keeping her safe and warm. Brienne left the dragons with Podrick and went to Tyrion, Bronn and Jaime, near Cersei’s remains. She knelt beside Jaime, who was staring at the cooling sword as if mesmerized.

“Ser Jaime,” she said gently.

“Why is it red?” Jaime finally turned to look at her, his green eyes still unfocused.

She frowned and turned to study the re-forged greatsword. Tyrion, who had moved closer to the sword to allow Brienne a place at Jaime’s side, provided the answer. He bent down, studying the blade.

“The rubies in the swords’ hilts have melted,” Tyrion explained. He straightened to face Brienne. “ _Oathkeeper_ had several smaller rubies in its hilt and in the lion’s eyes. _Widow’s Wail_ had two large rubies. The dragons’ fire melted them and they flowed into the ripples in the Valyrian steel.”

Brienne left Jaime’s side to study the sword herself. Griff deposited Catren with Podrick and Ela then came to join her. The lords moved closer but still remained a safe distance away from the dragons.

“The swords didn’t melt together perfectly,” Brienne noted. “ _Widow’s Wail_ was smaller than _Oathkeeper_. See how there’s space where _Widow’s Wail’s_ pommel ends and _Oathkeeper’s_ begins.”

Tyrion moved further up, near the tip of the rejoined blade. “The tips aren’t even, either. There’s a notch where the two swords didn’t align.”

Brienne looked to where he pointed. The space between the two swords formed a V shape, which gave the greatsword a forked tip. Jaime looked at the blade sadly.

“The lion and the stag are gone,” he noted quietly, his voice hollow.

Brienne’s eyes widened as she stared at the sword’s odd double hilt. The gold had softened and spread under the dragons’ prolonged assault, blurring the lion’s head on _Oathkeeper_ and the stag on _Widow’s Wail_ until they were unrecognizable. Brienne shuddered at seeing the fall of House Lannister and House Baratheon echo in the cooling metal.

“Is it _Lightbringer_?” Podrick asked hesitantly.

Brienne’s eyes widened. She looked from the sword to Griff. He looked back at her with equal grim wonder. Brienne knew the Gods were guiding them, leading them to the weapons and the warriors they would need to battle the Army of the Dead. Was this sword the weapon that could kill the Night King?

“There will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world,” Tyrion quoted. “In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be _Lightbringer_ , the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him.”

“But it’s not burning anymore,” Brienne pointed out. “How can it be _Lightbringer_ without a warrior pulling it from the flames?”

“Remember the legend of Azor Ahai,” Griff reminded her. “He tempered his sword three times. First in water, then in the heart of a lion, and finally in the heart of his beloved.”

Ned came closer, joining the group. He looked over at the dragons, now relaxed with Podrick and Ela with them. The dragons looked back at him calmly, knowing the young Lord of Starfall was not a threat to their family. Ned relaxed visibly and turned his attention to the sword.

“Cersei was definitely Ser Jaime’s beloved but the sword wasn’t tempered in water and a lion,” Ned said. “Nor was it forged. It already existed.”

“It was re-forged and Brienne did temper it,” Griff contradicted. “Brienne carried _Oathkeeper_ , the larger part of the sword, into the Disputed Lands. She fought lions with it. She also dove into the sea with _Oathkeeper_ , while fighting pirates. The water was warmed by dragonfire and blood. She tempered her part of the sword.”

“But her part wasn’t enough.” Ned’s eyes widened, understanding Griff’s point. “The sword had to be whole before it could be properly tempered. Ardayn rejoined the parts, Ser Jaime tempered it, then the dragons strengthened it with their dragonfire and magic.”

“Does that mean Jaime is Azor Ahai?” Tyrion asked. “Is that why the Gods dragged him away from Cersei’s burning body? Jaime is the Last Hero reborn? He’s the one who’ll save us all from the Long Night?”

Jaime turned to stare at his brother. “Last Hero? The Gods dragged me away?”

Tyrion went back to his brother’s side. “Yes. After you plunged the sword into Cersei’s heart, your golden hand flew up and _dragged_ you away from her.”

“Dragged?” Jaime repeated again, disbelief clear in his eyes.

“Aye, it did,” Bronn confirmed. “I was once caught by a nasty lord with my hand on his lady’s breast. I could have used your golden hand to drag me away from his heavy fist.”

“Bronn,” Tyrion hissed. “Shut up!”

Bronn shrugged but his salty tale had finally gotten through to Jaime. He stared at his golden hand as if he’d never seen it before. Brienne gasped as he held it up. The top of the hand, where the thumb and forefinger were, was as finely shaped as before. But the bottom of the golden piece, at the pinky side, which had been against Cersei’s burning body, had melted and cooled, now misshaped and oddly flat.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Jaime reminded her, seeing the horror in her eyes. “I can’t feel it.”

Despite herself, Brienne felt a wave of relief wash over her. She knew the golden hand wasn’t an actual part of Jaime’s body. He hadn’t felt Cersei’s body burning against it nor had he suffered when the appendage melted. Even the scorch marks on his Lannister uniform looked minor. Still, she couldn’t hold back the memories of Jaime after he lost his sword hand. The pain, shock and blood loss had nearly killed him. Only her bullying and the promise of returning to his beloved Cersei had kept him alive during that horrible time.

“Ser Jaime, I told you, repeatedly, that you were under the Gods’ protection,” Brienne reminded him gently. “You could not have survived all you’ve been through without their protection. They need you, _we_ need you, to fight in the Great War. Once again, when your life was in peril, they intervened to save you. They used your golden hand, an inanimate object, to drag you away from the flames.”

The Dornish lords, who’d been listening intently even while keeping their distance, were all staring at Jaime. Their expressions ranged from shock to disbelief and even disgust. Manfrey’s mouth curled in distaste while Dearon snorted.

“The Kingslayer is Azor Ahai, the Last Hero, reborn? This dishonorable cripple? Then we are all doomed,” Anders sneered.

“There are many ways men can be dishonorable, Lord Anders,” Brienne said quietly. “Some choose to favor the wrong love. Others kill innocents to satisfy their own desires.” She held his gaze. “But honor can be regained and heroes can emerge from the worst of circumstances. If Jon Snow is correct, then we’ll soon endure a second Long Night and must fight against the darkness together.”

“Azor Ahai and the Last Hero may not have been the same person,” Griff cautioned. “The stories of Azor Ahai are told in Essos. He was supposed to have thrust his blade into a monster, causing his sword to burst into the flames. The Last Hero is said to have helped defeat the Others during the last Long Night. Neither worked alone, both became heroes because they had no choice. The days of putting our egos and personal goals before our combined survival have ended. Now we must join together and defend all of Westeros.”

Jaime stared at Griff, shock plain in his wildfire green eyes. The Prince of Dorne, who’d made no secret of this hatred of the elder Lannister lion, was almost defending him. Brienne smiled at Griff. She had been right about her king. He was hot-tempered but he was also just. No matter a man’s faults, Griff didn’t begrudge men their truths or hard-earned victories. 

“Ser Davos also warned us of joining prophecies,” Podrick added. “Remember, he told us how the red witch, Melisandre, blended the stories of Azor Ahai with those of the prince who was promised. She thought they were the same man. She burned innocent people, including Princess Shireen, trying to make Stannis Baratheon into the prince who was promised.”

“Melisandre,” Brienne growled.

Even now, the memories of the Red Priestess’s shadow demon murdering King Renly caused a chill to slide down Brienne’s spine and goosebumps to rise on her arms. Faith could steady men, such as her belief in the Gods’ guidance. Misplaced faith, however, could lead to devastating results, kill kings and topple kingdoms. She was distracted from her thoughts by Moqorro’s deep frown.

“Do you know Melisandre?” she demanded.

The Red Priest nodded gravely. “Yes, my Lady Ser. Her faith is true but her judgement is quick.”

“Her judgement is not only quick, but false,” Brienne lashed out.

The dragons, picking up on her spiked emotions, rose from their comfortable positions beside Podrick and Ela. Ardayn and Serdun separated from the group to fly to Brienne. Catren and Gallan went to Griff’s side while Allwyn eased itself out from under Ela’s hand. Podrick pulled the babe into his lap as Allwyn stationed itself in front of the pair.

Moqorro watched the dragon’s movements and swallowed visibly. “My Lady Ser, our Lord guides but many do not have the knowledge to interpret his visions.”

“That’s what Kinvara said, too,” Podrick agreed. “She said ‘No, men and women make mistakes, not our Lord,’ my Lady Ser.”

The priest’s eyes widened and his facial tattoos suddenly looked darker red, as if the blood had flushed into his face under the cover of his velvety dark skin. His breathing quickened as he looked from Brienne to Podrick then back again. Podrick’s remarks had alarmed the Red Priest.

“You know Kinvara?” the priest asked.

Brienne nodded. “Yes, Podrick and I met her in Essos. Do you know her?”

Moqorro also nodded. “She is the High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis, the First Servant of the Lord of Light, the highest of our faith. Her words are our Lord’s words.”

“She said she had a vision for me,” Brienne admitted.

Moqorro was so startled by her admission that his lips parted as he stared at her. The chill swept over her again. She looked down to see Serdun and Ardayn sitting beside her, looking up at the Red Priest with focused intensity.  Moqorro didn’t seem to notice them but everyone else did. The lords shifted away while Bronn and Tyrion tugged on Jaime, still kneeling by Cersei’s ashes, urging him out of the dragons’ fire range.

“What did she see?” the priest demanded, his voice deepening with his urgency.

“She said ‘I see you floating between the sun and a star, running with wolves and lions, soaring with dragons and eagles, parting the blackest clouds and holding lighting in your hand.’ She told me I had a great destiny,” Brienne recalled.

“She also said my Lady Ser was the light in the darkness,” Podrick added.

He had Ela in his lap. The babe seemed to also sense the chill in the air because she sat quietly in his arms, snuggling close, not even reaching for Allwyn. The dragon had stationed itself in front of Podrick, putting itself between them and Brienne’s tension. Allwyn sniffed the air, trying to find the source of its mother’s rising agitation.

“Then it is so,” Moqorro insisted. “Kinvara is the Flame of Truth, the Light of Wisdom. She tells no lies. What she sees will come to pass.”

Another chill slid down Brienne’s spine. It wasn’t Moqorro’s words or even the conviction in them that caused her blood to prick. Something was wrong. She looked around the room again, trying to determine what it was. Griff also seemed to pick up her sense of unease. He walked over to Gregor’s remains, Catren and Gallan at his back. The dragons hissed at the burnt, blackened remains of the former Queensguard as Griff reached into the ashes to retrieve _Dawn_.

Brienne continued to search the room. Jaime, Tyrion and Bronn were standing together, not far from Cersei’s ashes, but far enough away to be out of the dragons’ fire range. The Dornish lords were also in a tight group, looking back at her with mingled confusion and concern clear in their tense postures. The Lannister guards, stationed outside the open main doors, looked around uneasily. They put their hands over the sword pommels, an involuntary act of self-protection. Podrick, with Ela in his lap, bent his head, soothing the little girl.

Once Podrick bent down, Brienne saw Boros’s dead body slumped against the wall behind him. But Boros hadn’t been near the wall. He’d been at the side doors when Brienne had slit his throat for shooting a bolt at her dragons. Yes, she saw the pool of blood where his body had fallen. She also saw the trail of blood where Boros had dragged himself to the wall. Suddenly, Boros opened his eyes. They were an eerie, unnatural shade of blue.

Instantly, Brienne was transported back to the day in the Dragon Pit, when the Wight Jon had captured ran out of the wooden box and screamed its inhuman cry. _Wight._ Brienne reached for her sword but the scabbard was empty. Moving instinctively, she grabbed _Ice_ from the ashes. The greatsword was heavy, requiring both hands to hold it steady.  Gritting her teeth at the unfamiliar weight, she lifted the sword and ran to Boros.

“Brienne!” Griff cried.

She ignored him, her entire focus on the unnaturally blue eyes staring at her. She thrust _Ice_ into Boros’s blue eye and his corpse shattered, hitting her with shards of ice. The other former Queensguard also sat up. Brienne turned to them with _Ice_ but Ardayn and Serdun were ahead of her. They unleashed dragonfire on the unliving, moving corpses. The Wights screamed their nerve-shattering scream of the undead as the fire burned them inside their armor.

Brienne whirled around. “We’re under attack! The dead are rising!”

For a shocked moment, everyone stared at her, open-mouthed. Despite Boros shattering and the other Queensguard burning, they couldn’t fully grasp the enormity of the nightmare they were seeing.  Tyrion was the first to recover.

“The graveyards! The capital is full of graveyards,” he said, his voice rough with urgency. “If the dead are rising, they’re rising _inside_ the city walls!”

Brienne stared at him in horror as everyone else broke free of the shock that had held them. The lords reached for their swords, not knowing the ordinary steel wouldn’t protect them against the undead. Then she heard Lord Hayford’s words in her ears.

_“We suffered because of the Lannisters. Now their men fill the tourney grounds and their imp stands at your side.”_

The dead wouldn’t just rise inside the city walls, they would rise around the tourney grounds. Many of the men defeated in previous tourneys were buried in the grounds past the tourney area, preferring or uncaringly left behind in mass graves near the field of honor. The Westerlands troops were out there now, without protection or weapons able to fight the Army of the Dead.

Brienne didn’t hesitate a second longer. She ran out of the room, _Ice_ still in her hands, Ardayn and Serdun flying at her side. The dragons’ fierce cries cleared their path as she ran out of the castle and through the streets. Her breath was burning in her lungs when she finally came to the Gold Cloaks stationed at the King’s Gate. The guards immediately raised their hands, away from their sword belts, trying to show the dragons they were no threat to them.

“Clear the area. Call in the troops,” Brienne gasped. “We need…we need to bring the army… inside the walls.”

The Gold Cloaks looked confused but nodded and hurried out to the army. Brienne leaned against the wall, inside the gate’s arch, catching her breath as Ardayn and Serdun guarded her. The merchants who’d set up stalls near the gates hurriedly began packing their wares as the Gold Cloaks called to the Westerlands troops. Brienne looked up and realized the chill she felt hadn’t just been her nerves. The sky was now heavy with dark grey clouds and a sharp breeze made goosebumps rise on her arms again.

The first of the troops began to rush towards the gates. She hurried outside, beyond the wall, to watch the skies as the men clogged the gate. Ardayn and Serdun flew at her shoulders, their shrieks urging the men to run faster into the greater safety of the city walls. Soon the path was filled with the black leathers and red uniforms of the Westerlands army. Brienne continued to watch the gathering clouds, shivering in the chill winds they brought. Was the Night King coming? Had he raised Viserion and decided to attack the capital first?

An inhuman shriek grabbed her attention. She looked to the rise past the tourney grounds for the source. There! Several Westerlands soldiers were using their swords to hack at the inhuman creatures emerging from the ground. These Wights were even a greater horror than the one Jon Snow had captured. The bodies, already damaged from injuries sustained on the field of honor, were barely held together with thin layers of skin and muscle, with bone pushing out of the torn tissue.

Brienne gasped and her breath misted in the air around her. She ran to the men, against the surge of troops rushing into the city, to get to the rise. The screams went from inhuman to human as more Wights freed themselves from their shallow graves to attack the soldiers. They fought back with their steel blades, but steel wasn’t enough to destroy the dead.

“No!” Brienne cried, “not steel!” She pierced a Wight with _Ice,_ shattering it. “Dragonglass, fire or Valyrian steel. Get inside! Hurry!”

Ardayn and Serdun unleashed their dragonfire on the dead, setting the walking masses of bone, skin and muscle on fire. The Wights’ ear-piercing shrieks became louder as their bodies burned. The men backed away, assisting their injured companions, as they stumbled towards the gates.

“Brienne!”

She thought she heard Griff calling to her but didn’t spare the energy to look back. The dead were gathering, rising from the grounds, lumbering out of the trees towards her, almost as if they were drawn to her. She heard another dragon’s shriek and looked up to see Gallan join them, adding its firepower to Ardayn and Serdun’s.

“Brienne!”

This time she looked back to see Griff and Podrick on the ramparts. The King’s Gate was now blocked by the sheer mass of men forcing their way into the city, the crowd too tightly packed to allow anyone out through the gateway. She looked back to Griff to see him, with Catren and Allwyn on either side, jump off the high wall guarding the city.

“No!” Brienne cried, horrified. Her king had just thrown himself to his death!

Griff wasn’t dead. Far from it. She hadn’t seen that he had his arms around Catren and Allwyn as he leapt away from the wall. The dragons, though small, were strong enough to slow down his descent. Griff released them when he was only a few feet from the ground. He landed and rolled forward, coming out of the roll in a smooth, controlled motion. He jumped to his feet and unsheathed _Dawn_ , dodging around guards with his usual grace and speed.  

“Brienne, behind you!” Griff called.

Brienne lashed out even as she turned, shattering the Wight about to attack her. Then Griff, Catren and Allwyn were with her. Griff thrust his blade into a Wight with such force he almost overbalanced when the creature shattered. They both stared at _Dawn_ in wide-eyed shock. _Ice_ needed to pierce a Wight to destroy it, but _Dawn_ only needed to touch it. Griff adjusted his style from the two-handed thrust Brienne favored to the light, quick water dance style he’d perfected in Essos.

For several minutes, Brienne, Griff and the dragons fought valiantly but the dead were growing in numbers. Soon Brienne and Griff were forced to fight back-to-back, with the dragons firing from above them. Even with all of their efforts, they weren’t enough to hold back the tide of dead. Brienne gasped air into her burning lungs, exhaustion threatening to overwhelm her, her arms aching as she grunted and slashed out with the heavy Valyrian steel sword. At her back, Griff also breathed in deep, desperate gasps, his energy draining as fast as hers. Despair gripped her heart as she looked up at her precious dragons. They would stay and fight with them to the very end, dying with their parents, if need be. This couldn’t be their end, could it?

Suddenly, a line of burning arrows flew over them, into the mass of oncoming Wights. Brienne and Griff turned to look back at the city walls. Jaime was on the ramparts with the Lannister archers, the same men who’d rushed inside the safety of the city walls. Jaime’s face was red and he gestured to the men. They adjusted their positions as more men filled the ramparts behind them, setting up a second line of archers for a more powerful assault. Bronn, Ned and Balon ran from Jaime, waving the men along as the archers filled the gaps.

The walls were lined with the black leathers and crimson red uniforms of the Lannister forces while, below them, the blood-red three-headed dragon banners of House Targaryen fluttered in the chilly breeze. Hope filled Brienne’s heart and arms with a wave of warmth and energy. Jaime was, once again, coming to her rescue. As he’d done when Locke’s men wanted to rape her and when the bear had tried to kill her, when she’d needed him most, Jaime rose to her defense. She knew then, as clearly as she knew her own name, they would survive this battle. Even more, with Griff at her side, the dragons overhead and Jaime at her back, they would _win_.

“Brienne!”

Jaime gestured to her, urging them to come closer to the city walls. Brienne understood his plan. He was trying to limit the attack against them. With the wall at their backs, the dead could only attack them from the front. They’d be closer, making the archers’ hits stronger and more precise. The archers could focus on shooting at the dead without risking hitting her, Griff or the dragons.

“Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa!” Brienne ordered.

Griff had already started creating a path towards the archers. Brienne pressed against his back, trusting him to lead them, as she covered their retreat. The dragons tightened their circle as the flaming arrows shot into the mass of Wights, effectively cutting down their numbers. Slowly, they worked their way back to the city walls. Brienne knew they were at the shelter when Griff wrapped his arm around her and pulled her to his side.

“Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa!” he ordered.

The dragons came down to the ground beside them. A line of burning arrows drove into the ground in front of them, separating them from the oncoming Wights. Brienne, now able to hear Jaime screaming orders to his archers, finally released _Ice_. The Stark’s greatsword tumbled to the ground. Her hands were numb from the heavy weight and tight grip. She flexed her fingers to encourage the blood flow. Her fingertips tingled and the heat from the burning arrows warmed her as she slumped against the bricks and mortar.

“Archers, second line, aim at the rear!” Jaime screamed. “First line, continue defense!”

Further down the walls, Bronn, Ned and Balon repeated his order to the officers stationed there, directing the archers they commanded. Now that the fear of hitting Brienne, Griff or the dragons had been managed, the archers engaged with deadly force, demonstrating why the Westerlands armies were among the greatest in the world. The double line of archers shot on command, one line bending down to fit new arrows into their bows as the other line shot fire into the mass of Wights. Sweat-soaked squires were at their sides, lighting arrows as fast as the archers shot them.

Brienne closed her eyes and slumped into Griff, allowing Jaime’s voice to wash over her as he called out orders, battle strategy and encouragement to his men. She was tired to the bone, her legs shaking with the effort of holding up her own weight. Gently, bearing her weight along with his own, Griff slid down the wall until they reached the ground. He was as exhausted as she was, not even having enough energy to call the dragons. They both held out their arms, allowing the dragons to snuggle into them, the constantly renewed line of burning arrows protecting them from the rapidly thinning mass of Wights.

A wave of human cries washed over them. Brienne turned to look towards the Lion’s Gate on her right. Though her view was limited, she could see men waving their hands and bows. The mass of Wights further thinned as more archers turned their bows to the tourney grounds. Then there were no more. The Lannister archers had defeated the Wights. They had won their first battle against the Army of the Dead. The men above her head cried out in triumph and relief.

“My Lady Ser! Your Grace!” Podrick’s voice was hard to hear over the rejoicing.

“Formation!” Jaime ordered. “Hold your positions!”

The men quieted as they realized they hadn’t been released from the battle line. The archers and their squires returned to their marks, once again ready for battle. Jaime pushed through them to where Bronn, Balon and his officers had gathered. The officers and knights huddled in a group, listening attentively to whatever Jaime was saying to them. The archers and their squires were still and alert, conserving their energy, prepared in case they needed to fight another battle. The relative calm allowed Podrick to call down from the rampart.

“My Lady Ser! Your Grace!” he yelled. “Are you well?”

Griff dragged himself to his feet and staggered back, so he could see up. “Yes, we’re fine.”

“Water!” Brienne cried, also rising.

“Yes, my Lady Ser.” Podrick turned away from them. “Water! The dragons need water.”

In seconds, many of the archers and even several officers passed along their water skins. Podrick tossed them over the side, careful to throw them a distance away. Many skins burst from the high fall but several remained intact. Brienne and Griff eagerly gathered the skins and drank their fill then poured water down the dragons’ parched throats.

“Open the gates!” Griff ordered.

Ned appeared on the rampart. “Your Grace, the gates won’t open. The gatekeepers are working on them now.”

Griff flushed but kept calm. “Then bring rope! We can climb the wall. I want an assembly and an accounting of the people prepared immediately.”

“Yes, your Grace,” Ned promised. “Immediately.”

“Podrick!” Brienne called up, regaining energy as the water replenished her body. “What about the people? Did the dead rise in the graveyards? How many were hurt?”

“The people are safe, my Lady Ser,” Podrick grinned down at her. “Ser Jaime took charge of the city. He armed the Westerlands army with burning torches. The army units have surrounded the graveyards. They have orders to burn anything that tries to leave.”

“What about Flea Bottom?” Brienne demanded. “Some of the dead there aren’t even buried.”

Podrick nodded. “Ser Jaime gave the Dornish lords Valyrian steel swords and sent them into the streets with the Gold Cloaks. The city guards are also armed with torches, to destroy anything that rises in the streets.”

“The babies?” Brienne prompted.

“The babies and Ela are in the maester’s chambers with Ser Manfrey and Lord Anders,” Podrick reported. “They both have Valyrian steel swords. The Red Keep is locked down and the Gold Cloaks are ordering citizens to stay in their homes. The people are as safe as they can be.”

Brienne and Griff stepped further away from the wall. They watched as Ned, along with Daeron, reappeared carrying a heavy rope between them, just as Jaime returned with Bronn at his side.

“Why aren’t the gates open?” Jaime demanded. “Why do you have rope?”

“The gates won’t open,” Ned explained. “We must bring Prince Aegon and Lady Ser Brienne into the city. His Grace ordered us to bring rope for them to climb.”

Jaime frowned but turned to his men, barking orders. Quickly, the men helped Ned and Daeron secure the thick rope around the pillar and toss the end down to Brienne and Griff. Griff caught the end and tugged, assuring himself the rope was strong and the fastening secure. He turned to Brienne.

“Quick,” he ordered, “up the rope.”

Brienne shook her head and stood tall. “No, your Grace, you go first.”

Griff frowned at her. “Brienne, we don’t have time to argue about this. The Army of the Dead has just struck. Not in the North, not at Castle Black or Winterfell or anywhere near the Wall, but here in King’s Landing. We need to get into the safety of the walls before they strike again.”

“Yes, your Grace,” Brienne agreed readily. “But you are the king. You must go first. Your life is more valuable than mine.”

Griff glared at her, his jaw setting in the familiar stubborn manner she knew so well. But she also knew she was right. Aegon Martell Targaryen was the King of the Seven Kingdoms. He was destined to lead the realm out of the Long Night. Protecting him would protect all of Westeros.

“I am your sworn sword,” she reminded him. “That night, when I swore myself into your service, you made a vow to me, too. You pledged to ask no service of me that may bring me dishonor. You cannot ask me to leave my king behind while I go to safety. You cannot dishonor me in that manner.”

Griff’s jaw was rigid and a muscle twitched rapidly in his lower cheek. He looked up at the men watching them silently from the ramparts then at the dragons gathered around them. His indigo eyes burned with a fire almost as hot as dragonfire.

“Fine,” he agreed, his reluctance apparent in his tightly clenched fist. “Hurry after me.”

She nodded and used her weight to hold the rope as Griff, as quick as a monkey, used it to scale the enormous wall protecting the capital. Catren and Allwyn flew up to stay at Griff’s side as he quickly ascended the sheer wall. Gallan, Serdun and Ardayn stayed with her, looking up to watch Griff’s progress. Brienne looked beyond Griff to the heavy, grey clouds still blotting out the sun and the warmth. Why was it still so cold if they’d defeated the army of the dead? She scanned the skies but saw no sign of the Night King. Was he up there with Viserion, hidden behind the clouds? Why had he attacked King’s Landing instead of near the Wall?

Gallan, Ardayn and Serdun, still beside her, began to shriek. Brienne looked down at them and gasped in horror. The rope, which was so long, it lay coiled on the ground, was on fire. The end must have touched on one of the still-burning arrows. Even as she looked, the flame raced along the rope, disintegrating it in her hands.

“No!” she cried, trying to snuff the flame with her hands. “Griff, hurry!”

Griff, still several meters from the top, looked down at her cry. His eyes widened as he saw what had alarmed her. He had the blood of the dragon and could survive fire but he couldn’t fly. A drop from that height would kill him. Catren and Allwyn, at Griff’s side, shrieked as Griff turned his attention back to climbing. Podrick leaned over the side, Bronn and Ned grabbing Podrick’s legs as they also saw the threat.

The fire ran up the length of rope faster than Griff could climb. But he was almost to the top. Griff brought his legs to his chest then pushed against the wall, using the strength in his legs to swing the rope towards Podrick’s outstretched hands. Podrick caught Griff’s arm with a harsh grunt that turned into a cry. Griff’s weight was almost enough to send them both tumbling over the side. Bronn threw himself over Podrick’s legs while Ned braced himself against the pillar. Daeron appeared beside Ned and grabbed Griff’s free arm. Jaime grabbed Griff’s other arm, over Podrick’s hold, as Ned and Bronn dragged Podrick back from the edge.

Brienne sighed with relief as Griff was also pulled over the side. She whispered a prayer of thanks to the Gods for protecting Griff and Podrick. They were safe! She knelt down to calm the dragons.

“What happened?” Griff demanded. He leaned over the side. “Brienne!”

“I’m okay,” she reported.

Griff whirled to face the men. “Why isn’t the gate open? Bring more rope. Brienne is still down there.”

Brienne straightened from the dragons to look up to the top of the wall. She saw Balon run up to Griff and Jaime. The knight was gasping for breath from his dead run.

“Your Grace, they’re coming!” Balon cried.

Griff looked around the ramparts as if the threat could be an army of crows coming at them. “Who’s coming?”

Brienne saw Balon face flush so red, she could see it from the distance. Her heart began to pound madly as she looked up at the gallant knight.

“The dead!” Balon cried. “Thousands of them!”

Brienne watched as the men, including the archers and the officers, turned to look towards the Lion’s Gate and the King’s Road. They all looked cold and grim, horror freezing their faces into death-like masks. The archers raised their bows, preparing for the next wave.

“How many?” she called up. “Podrick, how many?”

Podrick looked down at her, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “A wave of the dead, my Lady Ser. Ten times more than we just fought.”

Griff, equally horrified, looked down at Brienne. “Where is that rope? We need rope. Brienne is still down there! Bring rope!”

Brienne didn’t listen to his desperate orders. Now that she was paying attention, she could feel the rumble along the soft ground, the pounding of an army of feet. The skies above her darkened even more as a viciously cold gust of wind struck her cheeks and pulled at her hair. They had only fought the first wave. Now the real Army of the Dead had arrived.

She should have known the small number they’d battled wasn’t enough given all the dead bodies littering the Crownlands. She’d underestimated the true cruelty of men. Their bloodthirsty quest for power and glory never changed. After the War of the Five Kings, after Robert’s Rebellion, after all the battles in history, guarding graveyards wasn’t enough.

She’d forgotten they’d turned all of Westeros into a graveyard.


	42. Fire Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’d been fools to think that the small number they’d just defeated, a few hundred Wights, was the entirety of the enemy they’d fight. The first wave was only the dead buried near the tourney grounds. Now they would face the true threat.

### Chapter 42 – Fire Keeper

Brienne closed her eyes as she absorbed the vibration from the soft ground, the pounding of an army of undead soldiers. Above her, the living fighters, the archers, officers and squires, were now quiet, conserving their energy for the next round of battle. She looked to the rise past the tourney grounds, where the dead would soon appear. They’d been fools to think that the small number they’d just defeated, a few hundred Wights, was the entirety of the enemy they’d fight. The first wave was only the dead buried near the tourney grounds. Now they would face the true threat.

The army of men – fighters from the nearby keeps and families of the Westerlands, Stormlands, Crownlands, the Reach and Dorne – had strong advantages. They knew what they were fighting and wouldn’t waste time or energy with useless defenses such as ordinary steel or hand-to-hand combat. Their archers were higher placed, giving them better sight lines and clear marks. They kept their distance and used fire, their most powerful weapon. Even more, the city’s greatest protection, the thick, strong walls surrounding King’s Landing would shield them, for as long as it took the archers to defend the Wights.

The walls were no protection for her. She was outside the city, near the King’s Gate, the same gate Griff had, prophetically, used to enter the city he now ruled. That gate would not open for her, keeping her outside to face the Night King and his army. Brienne knew this was the Gods’ work. Only they had the power to keep the massive gate shut despite the best efforts of men. The Gods wanted her out here, facing the Army of the Dead. It was their will and she was their instrument. As they commanded, she followed.

“Brienne!” Griff cried from above her.

She opened her eyes and looked up to see his white face, his emotions tightly checked under his strained, stark features. Jaime, Balon and Bronn turned away, gathering with their officers, their focus on the approaching army. Ned stood by, but kept his head lowered, quiet and ready. Griff also looked to the distance and curled his hands into fists. His face paled even further. She could almost see his eyes blazing, even from their distance, as his willpower locked his pale, perfect features into an expressionless death mask.

“Catren, Allwyn, māzigon naejot issa!” he ordered.

“No!” Brienne cried, knowing what he intended. “Don’t come down here! Podrick, stop him!”

Podrick, tears spilling from his eyes, turned to face Griff. Her squire was so used to obeying her orders, he did it without conscious thought. But Podrick stopped when he was faced with the fierce, frozen desperation of the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Griff calmly, deliberately, pushed Podrick aside as Catren and Allwyn rose beside him. Around him, archers, squires and officers stumbled back, abandoning their positions rather than risking an encounter with the deadly dragons. Jaime and his officers turned from their conversation to watch the confrontation.

“Your Grace, no!” Brienne pleaded. “You can’t come down here. You can’t face them with me.”

“I am Aegon Martell Targaryen, the son of the sun and the blood of dragons,” Griff snarled, his expression so cold and fierce, Brienne would have raised her sword to defend herself, if she’d seen it on anyone else. “No one controls me, no one commands me.”

“Except the Gods,” Brienne countered. “You said you trust me and believe the Gods are guiding us. Did you lie?”

Griff, his arms already around Catren and Allwyn, froze. Jaime, Balon, Bronn and even Podrick stepped back as they watched him. The soldiers and Ned were also still, their attention wavering between the King of Westeros and the approaching Army of the Dead. Griff glared down at her, his temper almost as tightly controlled as his expression.

“I’ve never lied to you, Brienne.” Griff spoke through gritted teeth. “I trust you and I believe in the Gods’ guidance. But I won’t let you die if I can save you.”

“You can’t save me, your Grace. If you come down here, all you can do is die with me,” Brienne insisted. “The gate won’t open and once the dead approach, we can’t allow it to open. We can’t risk the Wights damaging the gate and entering the city. You can’t die with me. You’re too important to lose.”

“So are you.” Griff’s expression was still tightly controlled but his voice trembled the slightest bit. “You’re the mother of dragons, their keeper. They _need_ you. I—”

He abruptly stopped speaking. Instead, he pressed his lips into a flat, bloodless line. Brienne’s heart clenched at the icy, blank mask on his face. Griff was fighting hard to control his reactions, to keep his emotions out of his expression. She tore her gaze away from her king to look down at Ardayn, Serdun and Gallan still beside her. They were tense and puffed, aware of the threat marching towards them, even if they couldn’t see the army beyond the rise. Then Brienne raised her head to look at Catren and Allwyn, hovering above Griff’s head, ready and even eager to bring Griff down to her.

A wave of love and tenderness washed over her. These were her children, the only children the Gods had allowed her. They were fierce, devoted, exceptional and extraordinary, a joy beyond her wildest dreams. She had done everything she could to protect and prepare them for the world they would soon dominate. She’d given her blood for their birth, her love for their devotion and her sword for their protection. But the greatest gift she’d given them was a steady, true father to mold and guide them with his sense of honor and duty.

“The dragons have you,” Brienne pointed out gently. “I couldn’t ask for a better man to raise them. They’re clever, strong and disciplined from your training. They’ll learn to serve the world under your guidance. I know you’ll serve the people of Westeros with the same love and care you’re giving to raising these five. You’ll be a wonderful king, as you’re already a wonderful father.” 

For a moment, Griff’s iron control wavered and his mouth quivered. Brienne could see the grief and terror in his features as he looked down at her. He opened his mouth, his desperation clear as he raised his head to scan the horizon. Judging from the way his eyes widened, what he saw alarmed him.

“Brienne,” he began, but stopped as his voice broke.

It took him a few seconds to compose his features, to bring his emotions back under his rigid control. A lump rose in Brienne’s throat and tears filled her eyes. She understood what he was feeling. They’d been together for less than four months but they’d fought side-by-side, planned to build a better world and had even created a family. Their time with each other had been so short but they’d packed more memories into those brief months than some people experienced in a lifetime.

“I used to pray daily to the Faith to give my life meaning and to serve a just king.” Brienne knew her voice wavered but she didn’t care. She blinked hard to clear her eyes but didn’t wipe away the tears sliding down her cheeks. If these were her last words to her king, she wanted them to be genuine. “The Gods answered my prayers. They gave me the dragons and they gave me you. I’ve been blessed beyond anything I could have imagined. I’ve tried to serve you and the Gods to the best of my ability. It’s been an honor to be in your service, your Grace.”

Griff’s mouth fell open and his chest expanded as he gasped in air. He shook his head, either denying her words or their outcome. Still, she knew nothing he did would change their fates. Even the King of the Seven Kingdoms wasn’t above the Gods’ will. She had hoped for a lifetime to serve her king but accepted their judgement. Her faith in the Gods was unshakeable. Above all things, she was their warrior and would carry out their will. If this was the sacrifice they wanted her to make, she would make it gladly.

“Brienne, no!” Griff spoke between clenched teeth but the desperation was clear in his voice. “I will not let you die.”

“You have no choice.” Brienne blinked rapidly as fresh tears spilled from her eyes. “You even predicted this would happen. The first day you returned to King’s Landing, you said I was a woman of honor, a noble knight of the Seven Kingdoms, who would willingly sacrifice herself for the greater good. _This_ is the greater good.”

“I can’t lose you, Brienne,” Griff insisted, no longer caring that his voice cracked. “You’re too important to lose.”

“No, I’m only one person,” Brienne disagreed. “You’re not just my king. All of Westeros, the entire world, needs you.”

She recalled what Davos had said at Dragonstone, when they’d gathered in the _Chamber of the Painted Table_ to strategize for the parlay with Cersei and Euron.

_“I remember her lies as clear as day. She told them to Stannis often enough.” Davos’s gentle face flushed with remembered fury. “She called him Azor Ahai and said ‘you are he who must stand against the Other. The one whose coming was prophesied five thousand years ago. The red comet was your herald. You are the prince that was promised, and if you fail the world fails with you.’ Well, Stannis is dead and the world still stands, doesn’t it?”_

Melisandre had been wrong; wrong for believing Azor Ahai and the prince that was promised were the same person, wrong for believing Stannis could be either one and wrong for believing that sacrificing unwilling innocents served a higher purpose. Only the sacrifices men or women made by choice, with their whole heart and soul were true offering. Forcing death upon another only blackened the killer’s soul. Melisandre’s beliefs had been wrong but the prophecy was true.

“Aegon Martell Targaryen, you are he who must stand against the Others,” Brienne recited. “The one whose coming was prophesied five thousand years ago. The red comet was your herald. You were born under it. _You_ are the prince that was promised, and if you fail the world fails with you. You must lead the people. You were born, saved, secreted and raised to be king. It is your _duty_.”

Griff’s expression hardened. He understood duty. Every moment of his life had been preparation for him to do his duty, to serve the people of Westeros. He knew his ancestors had failed because they’d looked upon kingship as a destiny, an entitlement they didn’t need to defend or preserve. Their arrogance, madness and sloth had led to their own destruction. Now it was up to Griff to lead the people, to save the kingdom they’d nearly destroyed with their own hands. He couldn’t allow his personal feelings for one person to outweigh his duty to the Seven Kingdoms.

Griff stared out at the horizon again then turned to glare at Ned. “Take me to the gatekeepers.”

Ned kept his expression composed, even in the face of the fierce, angry dragons. He nodded and turned away. Griff glared down at Brienne for a brief moment, Catren and Allwyn flying above his head, before turning to follow Ned. Brienne took a deep breath and relaxed the muscles she didn’t notice had tightened. The rumbling under her feet was getting stronger. Ardayn, Serdun and Gallan hissed and looked around, sensing the threat they didn’t yet see.

Brienne looked up at the ramparts again, looking for Podrick. Her squire was curled against the wall, his face red with grief and misery. Where Griff reacted with fury and icy control to hide his pain, Podrick made no attempt to hide his emotions. He looked down at Brienne, not bothering to wipe away the tears streaming down his face.

“Podrick,” Brienne called up to him. She wiped away her tears to try to put up a brave front for him.

“Y…yes, m...my L-L-Lady Ser?” he stuttered.

Over time, as they’d become comfortable with each other, Podrick’s stutter had eased. Brienne hadn’t even noticed it lately. But it came back when her young squire was distressed, as he clearly was now.

“Podrick, you must be strong,” Brienne ordered. “I _need_ you to be strong for the dragons and for King Aegon. If I’m not here to be with them, you must care for them, in my place. Will you do that for me, Podrick?”

He nodded but didn’t try to speak.

“Listen to me, Podrick.” Brienne stepped closer to the wall, as if it could bring her closer to him. “Be brave and look forward, always. Tell my father I…I—”

She faltered, thinking of the grief it would cause her father to lose his last living family member, the daughter he’d loved and supported, no matter how much she must have disappointed him. He deserved better than he’d received but she would honor his teachings with her dying breath. She drew in air to steady herself.

“Podrick.” Her voice was steady now. “Tell my father I tried to live every moment as he taught me to, with honor and courage.”

“I…I will,” Podrick promised, his voice breaking. “I’ll t-t-tell him you’re the greatest knight in the…the Seven Kingdoms.”

Brienne smiled at his boundless faith in her. Then her smile died and she looked up at her squire earnestly. “The people of Tarth will be your responsibility, Podrick. King Aegon will make you my father’s heir.”

“No, my L-L-Lady Ser,” Podrick protested. “I’m not your blood.”

“We’re more than blood, Podrick, we’re bonded,” Brienne corrected. “You’re as much mine as are the dragons. You’re as precious to me as they are. The dragons, my father and King Aegon will need your support. I’m not worried about them because I know you’ll take care of them as you’ve cared for me.” Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks but she didn’t bother to check them. “I was so blessed to have you in my life, Podrick.”

Podrick sobbed and shook his head, pressing his cheek into the rough brick. A hand appeared on his shoulder. Bronn leaned over the young squire, his mouth softened in an uncharacteristic show of sympathy. Jaime, his face almost as flushed and miserable as Podrick’s, appeared at his side and looked down at Brienne. He opened his mouth to speak, then swallowed visibly before trying again. 

“Brienne, we’ve devised a plan for your defense.” Jaime’s voice quivered but remained strong. “The Wights are slow moving, which gives us more reaction time—”

“No, Ser Jaime,” Brienne interrupted him. “I’ve been on the battle line before. I know how many are approaching from the rumbling footsteps. There are too many coming for you to defend me for long. It will take hours to defeat that many Wights. You’re limited to only the archers on the walls to fight them.”

Jaime shut his eyes as a shudder passed through him. He clenched his hand and lowered his head, fighting for control. Their relationship had started in animosity and mutual hatred. Then, long weeks of trampling through the Riverlands and keeping each other alive during the worst of times had changed it. He was her dearest friend, the man who had trusted her with his darkest secrets and believed in her honor even when he’d been stripped of his own. In a different life and a different time, perhaps they could have become more. But this lifetime required duty and sacrifice, from both of them.

Jaime opened his eyes. “It doesn’t matter how long it takes. We’ll defend you. As long as we can keep the fire line between you and the dead, you’re safe. We’ll keep up our line, even if I have to jam a bow into this useless gold hand and shoot arrows myself.”

Brienne shook her head. “Ser Jaime, you can’t worry about me. You must focus on the future. You have to carry on our legacy and fulfill our vows.”

Jamie stared at her. “What vows?”

“To protect Aegon Martell Targaryen,” Brienne explained. “We’re both former Kingsguards. It’s our duty to protect our king. We took vows to give our lives for King Aegon.”

“No,” Jamie denied. “My vow was to Aerys and I killed him. I failed. My vow died with him.”

“Not so, Ser Jaime,” Brienne corrected. “Rhaegar’s last request to you was to keep his family safe. You said it yourself. You told us Rhaegar and your Kingsguard brothers still come to you in your dreams, repeating Rhaegar’s last request.”

“They’re haunting me,” Jaime snarled.

“They aren’t haunting you; they’re _reminding_ you.” Brienne raised her voice. “They knew what you didn’t. _Rhaegar’s son lives_. All these years, your dreams were telling you your vow hasn’t ended, your sworn duty isn’t finished. You’re the last of your Kingsguard brothers. The Gods spared you, time and again, for a reason. You may have failed to protect Elia and Rhaenys but you can still save Aegon. You have a chance to regain your honor by keeping your vow to your prince. You must fulfill our vow by protecting Rhaegar’s son.”

Jaime shook his head. “Aegon won’t have me, even if I were the last man alive and had two good hands to protect him.”

“Sansa and Arya both refused my protection the first time I offered it,” Brienne countered. “I didn’t let that stop me. We’d made a vow to Lady Catelyn to save her daughters, to return them to their family. This is no different than when you sent me, with _Oathkeeper_ , to find Sansa.”

“It’s entirely different,” Jaime argued. “Sansa and Arya Stark were frightened little girls who were being sent home. We’re facing a war with the undead. I’m a one-handed cripple. I’m not enough to protect anyone, let alone a man who hates me for existing.”

If he’d been closer, Brienne would have shaken Jaime until she shook his stubborn self-loathing lose. He was adrift, without the touchstones that had defined his life, trying to assimilate multiple shocks in a short time. He finally understood how his actions had contributed to the fall of House Lannister, witnessed the return of Aegon Martell Targaryen, assisted in the death of his beloved sister, organized the defense of King’s Landing and now faced her death. If they’d had more time, Brienne would have sympathized with him. But their time together was about to end. She had to make him understand in the short moments they had left.

“We don’t know what’s enough until we try, Ser Jaime. Finding Lady Sansa, taking her to Jon Snow at Castle Black, was _enough_. It gave the Northerners strength to fight for Winterfell, to regain their lands, to make Jon Snow their king and for the wolves to regather. Our actions were enough to fulfill and even surpass our vow to Catelyn. We, _you and I_ , Ser Jaime, helped restore House Stark.”

Jaime was so silent, Brienne stepped away from the wall to see him. He was looking down at her but his focus appeared inward, perhaps actually _listening_ to her this time. After so many years of defending his choices and being reviled for his most heroic act, Jaime had to _decide_ to turn a past of shame and bitterness into a future of honor and acceptance.

“We did that, Ser Jaime. By honoring our vow to Lady Catelyn, we helped rebuild the family who warned us to guard the realms of men. Jon Snow now leads an army to man the Wall and helped prepare us to defend King’s Landing.” She paused but Jaime still didn’t speak. “You wouldn’t have known how to protect the capital if Jon Snow hadn’t come to the Dragonpit and explained it to us.”

Jaime shook his head. “You see honor, greatness in me where none exists.”

“It exists, Ser Jamie, even if you don’t see it,” Brienne insisted. “You’re the reason King’s Landing still stands - for the _second_ time. Before, you saved it from being destroyed by wildfire. Now, the capital would have fallen into chaos if you hadn’t taken command of it before the dead rose in the graveyards. Who, other than you, could have reacted so quickly to mobilize the army and the Gold Cloaks to defend the city?”

“Only after you sent the army into the city to protect them from the Wights. And I…I didn’t plan it,” Jaime admitted. “I just did what needed to be done.”

Brienne smiled. “Exactly. You just do what needs to be done. Every time I need you to, you rise. That’s what you must do from now on. You must uphold our joint honor and the Kingsguards’ honor.” She held his gaze, even across the distance, making sure she had his full attention. “It’s your time. Rise, Ser Jaime, _rise_.”

Jamie held her gaze, as if he could see the truth in her eyes, even across the distance. Then, as she watched, something in his expression changed, a new resolve she hadn’t seen before. His shoulders squared and his back straightened. Energy caused the fine hairs to rise on her arms as she held his gaze. She could almost see the fire building behind his wildfire green eyes. It was as if a spark had ignited inside him, flaring to life behind his eyes. He nodded to her. Then Brienne remembered the most important point.

“One more thing, Ser Jaime. You must remember, those who protect the king sometimes must protect him from himself. King Aegon is a good man, fair and intelligent, but he’s hot-headed and impulsive.” Brienne shook her head. “You’ve seen the worst of kings: madness, sloth, cruelty and weakness. Promise me you’ll protect King Aegon from all things, even, if need be, from himself.”

Jamie held her gaze for a long moment before he nodded slowly. He opened his mouth to speak but Griff returned with Ned at his back and Catren and Allwyn over his head. The dragons screeched and beat their wings furiously, creating a draft that caused the archers around them to duck down. Ardayn, Gallan and Serdun began to screech, too, and rose from around Brienne. She turned around and gasped. The Army of the Dead was at the top of the rise beyond the tourney grounds. Rows of skeletons, held together by bits of muscle, skin and connective tissue, stretched from Blackwater Bay to the Kingsroad and beyond.

“My Lady Ser,” Podrick screamed.

Brienne looked up to see Podrick reach down for her, so distraught he didn’t seem to understand he couldn’t possibly reach her. He’d nearly overbalanced himself, threatening to topple from the ramparts, when Bronn grabbed his shoulders and dragged him away from the edge.

“No!” Podrick struggled with Bronn.

“You fool!” Bronn snarled. “Being bonded to dragons doesn’t give you wings. Getting yourself killed isn’t going to help her.”

Griff, standing beside Podrick, looked away from Podrick’s raw emotions to stare at the horizon. Griff’s icy control broke as he saw the wave of dead coming towards Brienne. His face whitened and his mouth fell open. He looked almost as desperate as Podrick. Brienne gasped as Griff put his arms around Catren and Allwyn. Now Griff was about to act as impulsively and as foolishly as Podrick had only a moment earlier. They couldn’t come down to her.

“No!” she cried out. “Don’t come down here.”

Griff ignored her. He took a single step to the edge before Jaime stepped in front of him. Griff snarled and tried to go around Jaime, still holding onto the dragons. Again, Jaime stepped into their path.

“Get out of my way, Kingslayer,” Griff snarled.

“Step away from the edge, _your Grace_.” Jamie placed heavy emphasis on Griff’s honorific.

Catren and Allwyn shrieked at Jaime but didn’t fire, even though he was in their range. In fact, Jaime was so close to Griff, he could have reached out and touched the king without stretching. Around them, the men kept their distance, including Bronn, who still had a tight grip on Podrick. Griff flushed darkly red, his indigo eyes flashing dangerous fire.

“I don’t have time for you, Kingslayer,” Griff snarled. “I need to protect Brienne.”

“And I need to honor Brienne,” Jaime countered, still standing firm.

Griff stiffened and glared at him, fury crackling around him. “What?”

“Brienne believes in the world you’ll build. She’s ready to give her life for it,” Jaime explained, equally incensed. “She asked me to protect you, to ensure that world comes to be. I’m honoring her request, whether you like it or not. You’re the king and I will keep you safe, no matter what you think of it.” He raised his golden hand in almost a threatening manner. “Whatever it takes.”

Griff hissed in his breath, looking from Jaime to his mangled golden hand. Catren and Allwyn, hovering behind Griff’s head, also hissed. Still, they didn’t attack or even screech at Jaime. They, like the men around them, waited as the tension between the King and the Lord Commander built.

“He’s right, your Grace,” Brienne called up. “Ser Jaime understands how important it’s to me that you’re always safe. The world needs you.”

A fine tremor shook Griff’s body but his muscles remained locked. Jaime was just as defiant, not allowing Griff to reach the edge. Catren and Allwyn stayed with their father, ready to obey but unsure of the command.

“Your Grace, you are the Prince of Dorne and the rightful King of Westeros,” Ned, standing just behind his prince, ventured quietly. “The people look to you for guidance and strength. It’s your duty to lead us out of the Long Night.”

Griff froze. He looked from Jaime to Ned them back at Jaime. Jamie held his ground and even rotated his golden, mangled hand, despite the threat of Catren and Allwyn behind Griff. After a tense pause, Griff relaxed his posture and stepped back. Catren and Allwyn, hovering at Griff’s head, quieted as they continued to study Jaime. Brienne relaxed as a sense of peace came over her. Her family would be safe. Rational people, such as Jaime, Balon, Ned and Tyrion would guide Griff and Podrick, keep them from throwing themselves off ledges or making other equally impulsive decisions.

“Griff,” she called up.

A shudder passed through Griff at hearing her call him by his nickname. He leaned over to look down at her. His bout of rashness had ended and his emotions were once again tightly under his control. Still, he relaxed his features enough to smile down sadly at her. Brienne smiled up at him, but without sadness.

“Promise me you’ll take good care of Podrick and the dragons. Protect Ela, the children and all the people of Westeros. Love them and guide them, be the king you promised me you would be,” she asked.

Another shudder shook his frame but Griff nodded. “I will.”

Her smile softened as she allowed her adoration to shine through. Griff would be a great leader, a king who would serve his people instead of ruling them. Westeros and the dragons would be safe in his hands. She might not live to see the world Griff would create but she believed in it, just as she believed in him.

“You’ll be a wonderful king.” Tears filled her eyes again but she blinked them back, determined not to blur her last image of her king. “It’s been an honor to be your sworn sword, to serve King Aegon the Sixth Targaryen. Long may you reign.”

Griff looked down at her, his lips parting as tears filled his eyes, his grief and pain suddenly raw and uncontained. Seeing his suffering brought fresh tears to her eyes, even as the archers raised their bows behind Griff, burning arrows alight. They drove a line of fire at her back, between her and the oncoming horde. Brienne whirled around to look at the Army of the Dead. She gasped. The skeletons had advanced across the tourney grounds, their stumbling steps slow but steady, only minutes away from her. Nearer to the Kingsroad, the archers were already firing into the mass of Wights, frantically trying to decrease their numbers as wave after wave approached.

She hadn’t realized how close the Army of the Dead was and how fleeting her last moments would be. Brienne knelt down to embrace Ardayn, Serdun and Gallan, still at her side. There were no words to express how she felt about them as she hugged the trio tightly. But the dragons, with their heightened emotional sensitivity and their ability to sense intent, seemed to already know what was happening. They whined and pressed against her, as if their small bodies could protect her.

“Sōvegon, zaldrīzoti,” she ordered.

The three squawked and refused to leave her side. No, they had to leave her. Staying with her wasn’t their fate. They would grow strong and, under Griff’s guidance, become the protectors of Westeros, the symbol of his reign and the promise of the glorious new world he would create.

“Sōvegon, zaldrīzoti,” she ordered again, her tone sharper.

The three, as stubborn as she was, remained snuggled around her. She looked up to Griff, who was still watching her, ignoring the flurry of frantic activity around him. Archers shot into the enemy and refreshed the fire line protecting her, even as she prepared to make her last stand.

“Call them!” she ordered him. “Call the dragons to you!”

Griff swallowed hard as he brought his emotions back under his rigid control. Then he nodded. “Ardayn, Serdun, Gallan, māzigon naejot issa!”

Beside him, Podrick, no longer held back by Bronn, fell to his knees and cried out, a sound between a sob and a scream. Catren and Allwyn, now settled on the battlements between Griff and Podrick, picked up the cry, shrieking their rage and grief. Griff repeated his order, his voice hardening. Reluctantly, Ardayn, Serdun and Gallan rose, also shrieking as they flew up to the battlements.  They refused to land, circling over the archer’s heads, shrieking out their fury. Catren and Allwyn rose to join them, their rage and grief intensifying as they absorbed Griff, Jaime and Podrick’s pain and desperation.

Their shrieks seem to attract the Army of the Dead, as the skeletons released their own inhuman cries. It seemed they were drawn to them, as many changed directions to leave the Kingsroad and come towards the tourney grounds. Brienne wanted to cover her ears but grabbed _Ice_ instead. The Stark’s greatsword was heavy in her hands but it gave her a measure of comfort. If the Gods wanted her to die this day, she would do so but she wouldn’t die without a fight. Even the Gods would understand that.

Something shuddered in the air, a disturbance so profound, it caused goosebumps to rise on her arms. She looked around frantically, trying to find the source. Her sight was partially blinded by the rain of arrows lighting up the unnaturally darkened afternoon. There! In the sky beyond the rise, she saw twin streaks of light flash in the heavy grey clouds. She was reminded of the forked lightning bolt, the sigil of House Dondarrion.

_Griff nodded. “I recognize it. The story is that the first lord was a messenger. He was ambushed delivering a message for his king. The man thought he would die in the attack but a bolt of lightning struck his attackers, killing both. The messenger delivered his important message and was made the first Lord Dondarrion for his troubles.”_

Would the Gods do that again? Would they send a bolt of lightning to protect her and save her from the horde? Even as the thought came to her, Brienne discarded it. A single bolt wouldn’t be enough, even if the Gods did send a bolt of lightning to save her. They would have to fill the sky with thousands of bolts to protect her from an entire Army of the Dead. She tightened her grip on _Ice_ even as she watched the skies, ignoring the burning arrows and screams around her.

The dual flare lit the clouds again then suddenly pierced it. Brienne gasped as she realized what she was seeing wasn’t lightning, it was fire. _Dragonfire_. The gasp turned to a sob as she fell to her knees, eyes shutting as she whispered her gratitude to the Gods. This was not her time to die. They didn’t require her to make that sacrifice. Instead, they had sent her not just one, but two champions. Not lightning, not fire, but dragons, the most powerful creatures in the world.

She opened her eyes, scanning the clouds for Drogon and Rhaegal. She saw the flames light up the clouds again then the dragons broke out of the cloud cover. The bigger dragons’ cries, now that they were close enough to be heard over the screams of the armies and the young dragons, made the very air around her shudder. The rain of arrows stopped as the archers and officers alike froze in shocked fear, stared at the oncoming dragons.

“Keep firing!” Jaime ordered. “Brienne is still down there!”

The archers closest to Jaime, the ones being screeched at by the five young dragons, reacted first. They resumed shooting, refreshing the fire line protecting Brienne from the oncoming Wights. Officers quickly threw off their shock, prodded by Bronn, Balon and Ned, and took command of their men again. The volley of fiery arrows resumed even as the older dragons closed in on the battleground.

Drogon and Rhaegal released their fury onto the Wights, following the Kingsroad to the capital, their fire streams a hundred times more powerful than the young dragons. They were so powerful their dragonfire sent up a shower of blackened dirt, shattered rock and pulverized bones. They changed directions, now flying parallel to the wall, destroying Wights by the hundreds. The dragons turned the ground on both sides of the Kingsroad into a field of fire, torching the trees and shrubs, creating a ground fire that raced to the very walls of the city, engulfing the Wights as they lumbered towards the capital. The dragons then came to the tourney grounds, unleashing their wrath onto the dead marching towards Brienne.

“Take cover!” Jaime screamed.

The barrage of fiery arrows stopped at the men fell to their knees, trying to protect themselves from the oncoming storm of dragonfire and debris. Brienne abandoned _Ice_ and ran for the limited protection of the gateway of the King’s Gate. It provided some cover as she crouched down, trying to protect her head from the shower of flotsam raised by the dragons’ fire; sharp pieces of rock, bone and even bits of steel and wood remaining from previous tourneys. Fleetingly, she thought of the Valyrian steel armor Jon had taken north with him. This was the time the armor, stronger than steel, would have provided the most protection.

“Zaldrīzoti, māzigon naejot issa!”

Brienne uncovered her head as she heard Griff scream out his command. She looked up into the sky, her arms still over her head to protect her eyes from the shower of debris. She gasped at seeing the young dragons had left the safety of the ramparts to join Drogon and Rhaegal. They swooped through the sky, imitating the bigger dragons’ battle tactic. The dragons dove close to the ground, released a line of fire, then flew up to avoid possible counterattack. Their intensity was nowhere near as powerful as Drogon or Rhaegal’s, but their determination was just as strong.

The archers were no longer protecting her but her dragons were. They fired on the Wights closest to their mother, their dragonfire a bare fraction of Drogon and Rhaegal’s, but still effective to repel a limited attack. The Wights they fired upon screamed as the dragonfire burned through the bits of tissue holding their bones together. The bones, without the connective tissue, crumpled to the ground, causing other Wights, senseless, soulless, wretched creatures, to stumble over their remains and into each other. 

Suddenly one of the dragons yelped in pain. Brienne gasped and studied the sky desperately. She screamed when she saw Serdun falling rapidly. Serdun flapped its left wing but its right wing was pressed against its side. A spray of blood followed its path down from the skies. The green dragon twisted and Brienne screamed again when she saw a whole sword had pierced its body. Drogon and Rhaegal’s powerful fire had uncovered and launched an entire buried sword into the sky and into Serdun!

_“Brienne, fire can’t kill a dragon!” Griff caught her arm and dragged her away from the railing._

_She fought him. “No, but swords and arrows can!”_

“Serdun!” Brienne cried.

Her cry was echoed by Griff and Podrick on the battlements above her. She watched, horrified, as Serdun continued to fall. Her greatest fear had just come true. Everyone thought the dragons were invincible, but they were frighteningly vulnerable, especially as young as the five were. Serdun’s still-developing armor couldn’t protect it from the bite of steel. She prayed desperately as Catren and Allwyn streaked to Serdun and, as they’d done with Griff only a short time before, pressed into Serdun, slowing the injured dragon’s descent. Ardayn and Gallan flew below them, firing into the ground, creating a landing area in the midst of the battlefield.

Drogon and Rhaegal, hearing Serdun’s yelps of pain, roared in fury and increased the intensity of their assault. They shattered bones and rocks with furious power, swooping closer to the ground, throwing up higher, stronger sprays of debris. Brienne didn’t care. As Griff and Podrick had almost done before, she blindly threw herself into danger. Logic and reason were forgotten as her desperation to protect her dragon took control.

On the wall, Griff and Podrick cried out again, this time calling to her.

“Brienne, no!”

“My Lady Ser, stop!”

They were on the ramparts, unable to help Serdun, but she was on the ground, ready to save her dragon. She ran into the field of fire, not caring that her clothes and boots were burning. She ignored the calls from the men, the threat of attack from the Wights, the bits of steel and stone pelting her, the flames licking at her from all sides, the screams of the undead, the grunts of the archers and roars of the big dragons. All she cared about was getting to Serdun.

The other four young dragons were circling over where the green dragon had landed, firing steadily, protecting Serdun from possible attack. Brienne broke through the flames and fell to her knees beside her dragon. She sobbed at seeing Serdun was alive, its small body shuddering, with the sword still embedded, having pierced between wing and body. She knew she had no choice but to remove the sword. Leaving it in would cause more damage. Serdun shrieked as Brienne pulled out the weapon in a single smooth, swift motion.

Drogon roared with increased rage, incensed at hearing its offspring’s cry. The shower of stones, bones and steel came closer. Brienne covered her head with her arms while leaning over Serdun to deflect the debris from further harming the injured dragon. She looked around frantically at the other four. The young dragons would be badly injured if they were hit hard enough or if other equally large projectiles were buried in the grounds.

“Sōvegon, zaldrīzoti!” she ordered. “Sōvegon!”

She waited only long enough to ensure the four uninjured dragons followed her order and flew straight up. Then Brienne gathered Serdun’s wings close to its body and flattened herself on the ground, covering the injured dragon with her own body. Seconds later, Drogon flew overhead and unleashed its fire directly over them, making them the center of the firestorm, directing the barrage of debris away from them. Brienne gasped and turned to her side, letting Drogon see Serdun, now that they were no longer being pelted by projectiles. She pressed her face into the dirt, Serdun in her arms. Time lost all meaning as the flames roared around them, as she and Serdun waited out Drogon and Rhaegal’s furious attack on the Wights.

Finally, the assault ended and another type of heat burned along her bare shoulders. Brienne opened her eyes and blinked rapidly as she adjusted to the light. _Light_. The heat she was feeling was sunlight! She looked up to see the clouds breaking apart, burning away as the sun attacked the chilly greyness with the same intensity Drogon and Rhaegal had used to burn the Wights. She twisted her neck to see the bigger dragons flying away, so high in the sky they seemed smaller than birds.

The four young dragons landed around her, turned away to face any possible threat, screeching and puffing, wings fully extended. Brienne lifted up on her arms to look around. Nothing moved in the blackened tourney grounds except lines of flames. Before, where there had been green grass, lush trees and abundant bushes now only a field of dragonglass remained, much of it still on fire. She lifted herself up to her knees, gasping as her skin, tight and sore from the direct dragonfire, stung with every movement. Painfully, she raised herself to a sitting position, Serdun cradled in her arms.

“Brienne!”

“My Lady Ser!”

Brienne looked back to the city walls and gasped in horror. Podrick, Jaime, Bronn, Balon, Ned and all the officers, archers and squires were still on the ramparts. Even from this distance she could sense their befuddled shock as they stared at her, alive and whole, even after sustaining direct dragonfire. She froze in horror. If she could see them, they could see her!

“Catren, Allwyn, māzigon naejot issa!” Griff ordered.

Catren and Allwyn left her side to fly to Griff. Ardayn and Gallan, picking up on her shocked distress, flared their wings and hissed at the men. They cuddled close to Brienne, giving her slightly more modesty as they pressed themselves against her bare shoulders.

Catren and Allwyn squawked as they brought Griff down from the ramparts, finally distracting Brienne from the horror of being seen, naked, in front of hundreds of men, with only an injured dragon to cover herself. Griff ran across the remains of the tourney ground, not bothering to dodge around the burning fires. Catren and Allwyn, squawking madly, returned to the wall, flying up to Podrick. Her squire rose on shaky legs but held his arms out for the dragons. She was distracted from Podrick when she saw the flames licking at Griff’s breeches and jacket.

“Your clothes are burning!” Brienne cried.

Griff ripped off the leather jacket as he fell to his knees beside her. He slapped the leather against his legs and the ground until he’d extinguished the flames. Then he wrapped the jacket over her shoulders and took her face in both hands.

“Are you alright?” he demanded.

“Serdun!” Brienne gasped, loosening her hold on Serdun so Griff could see the injured dragon in her arms.

“I saw. I’ll take care of it.” Griff nodded and tore at his shirt, tearing it onto strips as he ripped it off his body. “Are you hurt?”

“Serdun!” Brienne said again, her voice rising to a shriek.

She glared at Griff. What was wrong with him? Couldn’t he see she was fine? Why was he wasting time asking her stupid questions when their dragon was injured? He needed to focus on helping Serdun.

“Brienne, Serdun will be fine,” Griff spoke soothingly as he pressed a strip of cloth to the wound on the outside of Serdun’s wing. “Serdun was born of magic.”

“That didn’t save Viserion!” Brienne countered harshly.

Griff’s eyes widened and his hands stilled for a second. Then he gently gathered Serdun into his arms and pressed more cloth to the wound on the other side. Brienne pulled his jacket tighter around her shoulders, suddenly cold without Serdun’s fiery heat, even as the sun grew stronger and warmer above them. Her arm brushed her naked breast and she was distracted by the sticky, clammy wetness she felt. She looked down and cried out. Her shoulder, breasts and abdomen were covered in drying blood, Serdun’s blood.

Griff, who had been winding his shirt around Serdun’s body, immobilizing the injured wing, looked over at her and saw her rising fear. He held out his hand to her. It was streaked red with Serdun’s blood but not coated as she was.

“Look, Brienne, look at my hand,” he urged, waving in attract her attention. “Almost no blood. Fire closes wounds, remember? Serdun’s not bleeding anymore.”

Some of her desperation eased. “Are you sure?”

“Serdun’s strong, Brienne,” Griff tried to assure her. “It’ll be alright.”

“Serdun is only eight months old,” she reminded him. “It’s just a baby.”

“My Lady Ser!”

Brienne turned to see Podrick, now also on the ground, with Catren and Allwyn over his head. He ran across the field, his arms overflowing with a black and blood-red, three-headed dragon banner and the Stark’s greatsword, _Ice_ , balanced on top of it. Her squire stumbled to a stop beside her, losing his grip on the items. _Ice_ fell to the ground but Podrick was able to hold onto the banner. He shook it out and held it up for her inspection.

The coarse material, though stiff and scorched, was far better cover than Griff’s half-burnt jacket. Brienne accepted it eagerly. Podrick chivalrously turned his back as she shrugged off the jacket and wound the material around her midsection. Wrapped and carefully held in place, it was enough to cover her from her blood-covered breasts to thick thighs.

“My Lady Ser, is this the sword that pierced Serdun?” Podrick knelt down and picked up the broadsword by the long, muck-covered grip.

Brienne stared at the weapon. She hadn’t paid much attention to it when she’d pulled it out of Serdun’s body but she studied it now. It was exceptionally long and coated with hardened dirt, as if it had been in the ground for many years. There were no distinguishing marks but it was difficult to tell with the dirt and grime caked on it.

“It’s not Valyrian steel.” Podrick scraped away a bit of the stuck dirt on the blade. “How did it survive dragonfire?” He turned around to look at Brienne. “How did you –” He stopped and his eyes grew wide. “You’re a dragon, too!”

Brienne blushed, unsure of how to respond to that. Behind him, the King’s Gate opened with a heavy groan. Podrick turned and gasped.

“How did they open the gate?” he asked. “It wouldn’t open before.”

It didn’t matter how they’d gotten the gate open. What mattered was that Serdun needed help. They had to clean and properly bind its wounds. Beside her, Griff rose with Serdun in his arms. The injured dragon was now wrapped up in his jacket. Once again, Brienne was struck by how blatantly the symbolism surrounding Griff revealed his heritage. He had the stunning fair beauty of the Targaryens and the sword of House Dayne, while cradling a dragon, the symbol of his father’s house, wrapped in leathers marked with a gold spear piercing a red sun, the sigil of his mother’s house.

Griff carefully shifted his bundle so that Serdun could rest its head on his shoulder and wrap its tail around his arm. Serdun cried softly and weakly rubbed its head against Griff’s neck. Around them, the other dragons cried in response, rising up to stay even with Serdun.

“Podrick, the sword was under Brienne and Serdun during the battle. Take it with us. It might have value,” Griff ordered.

Podrick tore his gaze from Brienne to nod to Griff. He looked at the heavy greatswords, _Ice_ and the one that had pierced Serdun, then quickly shrugged out of his leather and metal studded jerkin. Cleverly, he inserted a sword into each sleeve and rolled up the leather jacket, creating a single, large scabbard.

“Brienne also needs your shirt, Pod,” Griff instructed.

Podrick removed his aged, dark red shirt without question. Brienne frowned and looked from her young squire to her king. Podrick was a foot shorter than her. What would she do with his shirt?

“It won’t fit me,” she protested.

“Neither will our boots,” Griff explained. “Podrick, tear it up and bind Brienne’s feet. The grounds are littered with weapon parts and burnt rocks.”

“Dragonglass,” Brienne gasped. “It’s dragonglass. We can mine it to make more weapons for the Gold Cloaks and the army.”

Griff nodded. “The Valyrian steel will go to the front lines and the lords who’ll fight in the great war. Dragonglass and dragonfire will be our most powerful weapons in the wars to come.”

Podrick quickly, efficiently wrapped Brienne’s feet as Griff calmed the restless, anxious dragons. Once Podrick finished his makeshift foot cover, Griff held out his free hand to Brienne. She shook her head and rose without his help. She was a knight of the Seven Kingdoms. They were strong and independent. Still, it took her a moment to regain her balance as the blood rushing into her feet caused painful prickles. It took her another moment to muster the courage to face the men lining the ramparts and filling the gateway. She looked down at herself to ensure the banner covered what it could. Still she was well aware of her thick thighs, muscular shoulders and built-up arms, visible to everyone.

Griff led and provided partial concealment for her. Podrick was a step behind her, the wrapped swords in his arms. Serdun rested its head on Griff’s shoulder and looked at Brienne with tired but clear eyes, reassuring her it was alright. Through the thin covering of aged wool, Brienne could feel the bite of sharp bits and the warmth of still cooling dragonglass. Worse, she could feel the weight of the men’s eyes upon her, as they came closer and closer to the King’s Gate.

_“Is that a woman?”_

_“Where did you find this beast?”_

_“You’re much uglier in the daylight.”_

_“Big Brienne.”_

_“Giant, toe-headed plank.”_

Jaime’s voice, as he used to speak to her, harsh and cutting, played in her head. But his voice wasn’t the only one, or the only insults she’d endured. A lifetime of being too tall, too broad, too plain, too strong and too masculine had given her a thousand hurtful memories, thousands of cutting words and even tearful nights as she’d learned to accept who she was. But even beautiful, delicate, traditional women were subjected to terrifying brutality.

_“They threw filth at her when the High Sparrow cut off her hair, stripped her naked and paraded her through the streets.”_

Cersei Lannister, often called the most beautiful woman in Westeros, had been humiliated and traumatized when she’d been forced to complete a Walk of Atonement. That horror had broken whatever had been left of the former queen’s mind, forever separating her from logic and reason. Brienne shuddered at the thought of enduring a similar humiliation. Then Serdun cried softly, perhaps picking up on her anxiety. Brienne looked at the green dragon, its orange markings somehow more prominent against Griff’s brown leather jacket and naked skin.

Brienne’s anxiety faded immediately as reality grounded and steadied her. She was no helpless woman, at the mercy of enemies and tormentors. She was the Gods’ warrior and the keeper of their dragons. She would not be intimidated by other people’s opinions or words. She would do whatever was necessary, even walk through the streets of King’s Landing practically naked, to take her dragon to safety. She straightened her shoulders and tightened her hold on the banner, her head held straight, daring anyone to comment on her build, her flaming red, sore skin, her blood-soaked chest, her limp, sweaty hair or her battle scars.

No one did. The men at the walls and the gate, along with the few merchants and Gold Cloaks beyond them, were all silent as she walked through the archway, Griff just ahead of her, Podrick a step behind her and the dragons overhead. Brienne was so focused on keeping her back straight that she forgot about her bare feet. Podrick’s makeshift wool covering had shredded during her walk across the field of fire, and now the cobblestones bit into her raw, bleeding soles.

She winced but steeled herself to continue moving. She had only taken a few steps when Balon appeared before her. The courtly knight swept off his coat and knelt. He bunched the leather at her feet and shifted away. Brienne stared down at the supple leather, and the sigil of black and white battling swans pressed into it.

“Ser Balon, your coat is getting dirty,” Brienne protested quietly.

“Lady Ser Brienne, your feet are bleeding,” Balon noted, just as quietly.

Brienne stared at the second son of House Swann. His expression was clear and direct, no disgust or cruelty marred the gallant knight’s face. She glanced over at Griff. Her king’s expression was set and calm but the corners of his mouth curled up slightly. She looked back at Balon.

“My dirty, bloody feet will ruin your jacket, Ser Balon,” Brienne pointed out.

Balon’s expression didn’t alter. “My Lady Ser, your quick thinking and actions are the reason King’s Landing still stands, why we suffered so few casualties. You brought in the army and fought off the Wights until we could organize our defenses. You’ve endured enough for us. Please, allow me to cushion this one step for you.”

Tears filled her eyes but Brienne blinked them back determinedly. Balon, gallant as always, had seen her wince and was trying to help her. Hesitantly, she stepped on his jacket. The soft leather was a welcome cushion against the sharp, hard cobblestone. Before she’d taken the next step, another jacket appeared on the ground before her. She drew in her breath on a soft gasp as she recognizes the worn, olive-grey leather, the hems singed from battle against Drogon. Wordlessly, she looked at Bronn’s face. The knight shrugged and lowered his head. As Brienne stepped on Bronn’s jacket, a cape of Lannister red was laid down next to it. Spurred by the first officer, others followed. Within seconds, the street was covered in a blanket of crimson capes.

Brienne stared, wide-eyed, at the field of crimson laid before her. The Westerlands officers, soldiers and squires lining the path and the walls bowed, eyes turned downwards. No one spoke, allowing the sound of the dragons’ flapping wings to fill the silence. Beside her, Griff observed the men with open satisfaction. He whispered comfortingly to Serdun in his arms, then gently nudged Brienne forward. She looked down, focusing on the cloth under her feet, instead of the men she passed. Even though she knew Griff and Podrick were with her, and the dragons above her, she was still tense, still waiting for insults or garbage to be thrown at her, as Cersei had endured.

None came.

Once they left the little market at the gate, the crimson capes of the Westerlands officers gave way to rough wool and cotton. Brienne pressed her lips together when she realized she was now walking on the precious, carefully cared-for capes of the struggling shopkeepers at Cobbler’s Square. The rough materials gave way to thicker cotton and wool, the garments worn by the wealthy merchants lining the Street of Steel. Then the thick raw silk capes of the Gold Cloaks, indicating they were passing the center square. Brienne’s breath caught again when she walked over silks and fine linen. These were the cloaks of the lords and ladies of the great houses of Westeros. Even they were here, quiet and observant, sinking into bows and curtsies as Griff passed by them.

Brienne stumbled to a stop when they reached the gates of the Red Keep, staring dumbstruck at the heavy silk and leather jackets of the Dornish lords. Before her feet were three black leopards standing on a yellow pile on orange, the sigil House Vaith, warriors so fierce, they’d brought down Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes. From the corner of her eye, she saw Lord Daeron bow to Griff as they passed. The path to the steps of the Red Keep was lined with the jackets of the Dornish lords. The last cape, before they mounted the stairs, was a lilac circle with a white sword crossed with a falling star, the sigil of House Dayne. Ned, who had supported Griff on the wall, bowed respectfully before his prince.

The marble steps, now heated by the rapidly strengthening sun, burned under her feet. Brienne was aware that she was leaving big, bloody footprints behind her. These were her last steps before she entered the shelter of the castle. Her shoulders ached from keeping them so straight and her fingers had cramped around the stiff material she clutched to her meager breasts and full thighs. Still, she hesitated when she saw the landing was covered by a cape bearing a spear piercing a burning sun, the sigil of House Nymeros Martell.

Griff, with Serdun wrapped in a matching jacket, didn’t stop, ignoring Manfrey’s respectful bow. He brushed by the castellan without acknowledging him. Brienne exchanged tense glances with Podrick, who stood silently at her side, uncomplainingly holding the heavy greatswords. Griff had not forgiven Manfrey for his poor decisions. Brienne tried to step gently on Manfrey’s cloak but it was hard for someone her height to move gently.

She’d expected the floors of the Red Keep to be bare. Instead, the hallway to her room was covered with the black and blood red, three-headed dragon banners of House Targaryen, a match for the one wrapped around her. Tyrion was waiting for them at the door to her chamber, along with a line of wide-eyed, anxious servants.

“We heard Serdun and Lady Ser Brienne were injured,” Tyrion said quietly, looking worriedly at the dragon bundled in Griff’s arms. “We’ve brought heated wine and water, clean cloth and fresh fish. Shall I have the maester brought here?”

“Not necessary, Lord Hand,” Griff responded. “I know how to treat battle injuries.”

Serdun turned it head and chirped at Tyrion, a sound the dragon hadn’t made since it was two months old. Tyrion’s tension faded and he smiled warmly at the injured dragon.

“You’re strong, little one,” Tyrion encouraged. “Recover quickly, Serdun.”

Griff, Serdun and Podrick remained with Tyrion but Brienne brushed by them to enter the sitting room. Ardayn and Gallan came in with her while Catren and Allwyn remained with Griff and Podrick. She was silent and still as servants quickly deposited their burdens on the table near the balcony then bobbed quick bows and practically ran from the room. Her feet burned, her back ached, her head throbbed and her muscles screamed with every breath. She was grateful for each and every pain.

She was alive and whole, as were most of the people in King’s Landing. They thought they were safe in the southlands, so far away from the Wall and the icy battlegrounds of the North. They hadn’t thought the Great War would come to them, deep in the warmth of the capital. But it had. They’d fought and they’d won, thanks to the weapons the Gods had provided them and the champions they’d sent. The dragons, _Dawn_ , _Ice_ , Jaime’s battle command, the Westerlands army and the level-headed actions of men like Balon, Ned and Bronn had led them to victory, this time. How had the Night King’s army reached them? Why didn’t the Night King himself appear?

Griff came to her and gently laid Serdun in its nest. He unwound the jacket with care but Serdun cried out when its injured wing was jostled. Brienne had stayed strong and stoic while fighting Wights; while preparing to sacrifice her life for the Gods’ will; while protecting Serdun in the field of fire; and while enduring a walk through the streets of King’s Landing, nearly naked before the people. But she couldn’t bear her dragon’s suffering. She fell to her knees, wrapped her arms around Serdun and broke.

Brienne sobbed, helpless to control the torrent of fear, worry and delayed shock. Serdun laid its head on her shoulder, trying to comfort its mother. Then she was surrounded by her dragons, bathed in their protective heat. Though the tears continued to flow, the heaviness in her heart lifted.

The Great War had come to King’s Landing. They, the army of men and the warriors of the Gods, had repelled the first attack. She knew more attacks would come but she had faith. She also had a family to protect and to protect her. She was ready, strong, determined and, wrapped in the warmth of her dragons, she was loved. That love lifted her, that love steadied her and she knew with no uncertainty, that love would save her. She wasn’t only the God’s warrior.

She was the dragons’ keeper.

 

 **Author’s Note:** Happy New Year! I hope you all had a safe and happy holiday season.  I came back with this extra-long chapter after the long wait. Was it worth the wait?

In the next chapter, Brienne will finally, _finally_ decipher the essential clue she received in the FIRST chapter. Have you figured out what the saltwater priest said that was so important? I referenced this clue multiple times and even stated it outright in chapter 38.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first story in the Game of Thrones fandom. I welcome and appreciate all feedback. I tried to limit this story to 50 chapters long but it will be much longer. I've increased it to 75 chapters. I hope it won't that that long! I'll try to post every Sunday. Additional tags will be added as characters and relationships are introduced.


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